Fire and Ice: The Wielder,The Giver and The Heir
by lemondropseverus
Summary: What do you do when everything you have is taken away from you? When an ancient curse takes effect and Cackles Academy becomes the battleground for two indistructible forces, the staff and the students race against time to protect all that they hold dear
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

_Dear reader,_

_When I was seven I went on a trip to England and although my command of English was less than satisfactory I begged my mother to buy me a purple book with a witch on the cover. I later found out that the name of the book was The Worst Witch and after a week of being best friends with the dictionary, I managed to decipher its contents. I was hooked._

_Now, I imagine most kids would dream of being Mildred Hubble. I did not. I wanted to be Miss Hardbroom ( almost two years later the same happened while reading Harry Potter and while all the kids in my grade wanted to be Harry, I wished to be Snape…). Although the possibility that I was a really weird kid cannot be discarded, I like to believe that my affinity to this character steams from the amazing way in which she is constructed. I like powerful characters, that are somewhat shrouded in mystery. Furthermore, when Kate Duchene gave her life on the TV show, my fascination increased tenfold and I followed each and every episode faithfully. It took my parents quite a while to explain that Cackle's (or magic, for that matter) does not exist. Sadly, childhood does not last forever and like so many other things, The Worst Witch was replaced by Chekov, Kafka, and Hemingway etc. Until two months ago._

_Desperate to escape from the clutches of my Accounting course, I started reading a The Trojan Women by Euripides. A few hours later, I decided to look for a version of the play on YouTube and a trailer from the National Theatre came up. As I was watching it (really interesting way of adapting the play, by the way) I recognised Hecuba's voice. Some painful minutes of mind jogging and replaying the video later, it dawned on me that Hecuba was Miss Hardbroom (or rather Kate Duchene). Thus with a renewed fondness for my childhood fascination I once more employed my YouTube searching skills and found the episodes that nachocheeez posted ( I am eternally grateful to him/her)._

_As I was watching the Millennium Bug, the idea for this story came into my mind and refused to leave. Something about the way in which Miss Hardbroom showed her vulnerability and limitations made me want to explore that side of her more. As such, for the purpose of this story, I will be borrowing her, together with the other amazing characters from Cackle's Academy, from the talented Jill Murphy._

_This story starts at the beginning of Mildred's third year but apart from some instances it will not follow it. Mildred will still have her amazing power of making drawings come to life, but it will emerge much earlier in the year and I will try to give an explanation for its existence in the course of the story. One very important change though, is that I decided to keep Miss Bat. Although I love Lavinia Crotchet, I find Miss Bat much more interesting, mostly because of her more prominent eccentricities._

_Although I have everything meticulously planned (HB would be so proud) and I can literally see what is going to happen, as the fiction starts on the mellow side, the rating will be T for now. It might change later. (It honestly depends on how gruesome I decide to write the harsher scenes)._

_I am not in the habit of begging for reviews although it is nice to see that someone cares enough for your creation to take a few moments and to write a few words. I do welcome reviews. Whether your opinion is good or bad I would like to hear (or rather read) it, mostly because this is completely uncharted territory for me. Also, although I am somewhat of a Grammar Nazi, English is not my mother tongue so please excuse potential mistakes (feel free to point them out)._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Lemondrope_

_PS: I honestly promise that further Author's Notes will be way shorter! (I just felt the need to babble a bit…)_

**_Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and the limited number of original characters that will appear henceforth._**

**FIRE AND ICE **

**BOOK I: THE WILDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR**

_Some say the world will end in fire_

_Some say in ice_

_From what I've tasted of desire_

_I hold with those who favour fire._

_But if it had to perish twice_

_I think I know enough of hate_

_To say, that for destruction ice_

_Is also great_

_And would suffice._

_ "Fire and Ice" by Robert Frost._

**Prologue****: A fairytale **

Once upon a time, a poor man had three sons and a daughter. Feeling that his time to leave the earth had come he decided to give his heirs what was theirs. At twilight, he called them all round his bed and looking upon his brood with a saddened gaze he gave them the only thing he had. His extraordinary power. To the oldest, he gave control of Water, hoping that the soothing nature of the element would temper his ambitions. The second son, a lad with little wit, received Air so as to make his thoughts fly quicker. The third one got control of Earth, to enroot him to his origins. As for the daughter, a girl with a gentle disposition, she received Fire. The only thing that the old man had time to do was, once again, look upon his issue with gloomy eyes.

Earth, Air, Fire, Water, the primordial elements. They are mystical items of power that give their bearers an influence which exceeds the realms of this world, the boundaries of rationality, the understanding of humans. But with extraordinary power comes extreme ambition. And with ambition comes a curse.

Two moths after their father had taken his last breath, the oldest challenged his brother, the bearer of Air. The Water that was supposed to soothe his fiery temper only served to further his ambitions. Having a taste of what having one element could do he could not help but wonder what having all the others meant. He killed his brother in unfair fight and took control of his element, swearing that one day he would have them all.

Fire had changed the girl whose nature had been as sweet as mead and served as fuel for her aspirations. Like her eldest brother, with trickery, false promise and sweet words, she stole Earth from her kin. She fled her place of birth, promising to herself that one day she will have them all.

For years the wielders of Fire and Water fought equally and the war seemed never-ending. Until one day, an idea formed into the mind of the lady of Fire. She needed power and she knew exactly where to get it from.

In the dungeons of Avalon castle she forged two objects. One was a round, golden pendant whose otherwise smooth surface was ruined by two black lines forming a scythe. The other was a golden ring, whose rounded top bore the Ankh, the key of life. Sisters in nature, created from the core of the castle's Lux Aeterna, these apparently harmless items shared a cruel, indestructible bond.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>**: We all labour against our own cure, for death is the cure of all diseases**

(Sir Thomas Browne, _Religio Medici)_

_It was incredibly sunny outside when the girl was called to see her mother.__ Brutus, a rather dumb but funny German Sheppard was running on the lawn as she tried to catch him on her seven year old legs. Although tall for her age, her legs were too short to manage the feat and her knee-length blue dress, already dirtied with grass stains, was not making things any easier either. As she was skipping after the dog, her long black hair, tied in a loose ponytail was slightly ruffled by the weak breeze and colour was rushing to her cheeks. _

"_Constance! Constance! "a male voice reached the girl and she stopped her scamper to see who had called her. _

_In front of the moderately large colonial mansion, stood a tall man dressed in a dark blue tweed jacket, a white turtleneck and grey pants. His features, partially covered by his coarse dark hair showed a thin face with high cheekbones, an aquiline nose and deep, dark hazel eyes. His hair fell into his eyes effortlessly and once in a while he would raise his big hands to remove the strands that were obstructing his vision. Tiredness, sadness and desperation were gracing the otherwise noble features and were coming together to form an overall hollow expression. It was the expression of a man that had been through hell and back the past few hours._

"_Daaadyyyy…" she yelled and proceeded to run towards the house, Brutus tailing her, with her arms wildly in the air indicating that she wanted a hug "Daddy what's happening? What's wrong? " noticing her father's grim appearance she stopped dead in her tracks, arms falling limply around her small body. _

"_Connie, my darling… you need to be strong…"the man crouched in front of his daughter, at her eye level, his left hand cupping her cheek gently. _

_The child's eyes widened with realization and she made a mad dash inside the house. Not caring that the was technically forbidden from running inside, she darted towards the impressive staircase, skipped the stairs two at a time and took a quick turn to the left on the first floor corridor. She ran like her life depended on it, not noticing the pain in her side or her shortness of breath, until she reached the door at the end of the corridor. There, she entered the all too familiar quarters of her parents. Inside the room, the thick blue velvet curtains were drawn hiding the cheerful sunny day. A pregnant smell of medicinal potions, sweat and sickness reigned, giving the chamber an air of morbidity. In the far end of the room, where the queen sized matrimonial bed was placed, her mother laid motionlessly, the satin sheets covering her legs and waist. As Constance approached the bed fearfully, she could see her mother's sunken cheeks, the black rings around her eyes and the slightly bluish tint to her skin. She wanted to run away, but could not. _

"_My angel, come closer…"a weak, raspy voice was heard from the figure on the bed and with a hesitant step, the girl approached._

"_Oh, mummy…" Constance exclaimed, tears filling her eyes as she saw what her mother had been reduced to._

_The girl had instinctively known for weeks that something was wrong with her mother. The change was subtle, and it started when her mother refused her favourite desert. Then, the woman started to lose weight and spend more time alone in the family bedroom, claiming more and more indispositions. Yet, with all the faith a seven year old could muster, Constance had hoped that she would be fine and that eventually all things would return to normal. But now, looking at the way in which her mother's beautiful golden hair, so unlike her own, hung limply on her shoulders and her white, supple hands were shaking almost uncontrollably, the girl knew that all hope was lost. In a bout of courage and sheer filial affection she took he woman's left hand and kissed it. _

"_My darling, I want you to listen to me very carefully" she paused to take a deep breath and opened her previously closed eyes to face her offspring.__ She muttered a quiet summoning spell under her breath, and a small round object appeared in her free hand. "This pendant is very important… " she continued weakly. "It was passed down for centuries … all witches in our family had to wear it… and now it is your turn." The woman finished and gave her daughter a somewhat sad look. _

_Constance took a moment to look at the pendant and she recognised it as the one her mother was always wearing. It was obviously made of gold and was quite simple in design, apart from the black drawing on it which, quite frankly, looked like a hockey stick. She never did understand why the woman had favoured this simple piece of jewellery above all others. Even when it did not match her attire she used to hide it under other necklaces rather than take it off. As she was pondering the importance of the necklace, weak arms tied it round her neck and her mother smiled gently at her, trying to maintain consciousness for a bit longer._

"_Never take it off, Connie"__ she said softly yet firmly, caressing her daughter's pale face with her free limb. The woman placed a kiss on her daughter's hand, which was firmly clasped in hers and looked into her dark hazel eyes. "Promise…" _

"_Yes, mummy… I promise…" the childish voice replied, tears running on her rosy cheeks as she realized that her mother's eyes were seeing no more. _

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><p>Miss Constance Hardbroom, potions teacher, formidable witch, nicknamed HB by her students, was known to never show any form of emotion. She never appeared sad or happy, startled or fearful, hiding behind rules, tradition and a self-imposed mask of rigour. Thus, for appearances' sake she was glad that no student could see her. at that precise moment. She had woken up gasping for air, her chest painfully constricted, beads of sweat forming on her pale forehead. Clutching the sheets of her bed to gain some stability, she looked outside her window only to notice that the moon was still shining upon Overblow Castle. Feeling the wave of dizziness pass, the potion mistress rose on still shaky legs and went to her private bathroom to get a glass of water. As she reached the marble sink, the woman bent slightly to catch her breath. For a moment, a fresh wave of dizziness and nausea swept over her and in response she clutched the sink tighter, her already white knuckles becoming even paler.<p>

Throughout the years, dreams of her mother had come back with regularity. And all her dreams, be them good or bad, ended with the scene of her mother's death and more specifically with Constance looking into the blank stare of her parent. The potion mistress could remember every smell, touch, sound and image from that night so very vividly that those dreams immediately reduced the thirty four year old woman to the state of a sad, frustrated child who does not have the maturity to understand the workings of the world. Yes, those visions were incredibly frustrating for Constance for she always knew how it would end, and yet, she was powerless to do anything but repeat what she had said and done at that moment. They could even be described as disturbing, and as such, with the tenacity that characterized her every action, she had trained herself to cope with them. It thus came as a surprise to her that her body was reacting so forcefully to the dream.

_Maybe __it's because I haven't had the dream in a while…_

She splashed some cold water on her face and was resolute to return to bed when she noticed a fait light in the mirror above the sink. The small red glow appeared only for a moment, less than a moment in fact, but Constance was sure her eyes were not deceiving her. She involuntarily touched what she suspected to be the source of the glow. The round pendant was surprisingly warm and as she laid a hand on it, the woman could feel a myriad of emotions flooding her brain, all at once. Fear, sadness, sorrow, pity, compassion and above all, guilt hit her with the strength of a lighting bolt and she had to grasp the edge of the sink tighter to prevent herself from falling. Taking a few steadying breaths, the potion mistress regained control and marched back to her bedroom resolved to sleep for another hour before beginning another day as deputy of Cackles Academy. She wasn't even sure those emotions were hers.

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><p><em>How <em>_many more, lay ahead dead or dying? _She asked herself looking at the wreckage in front of her. The woman's white robe swept the dusty floor, and her short dark hair was ruffled slightly by the draft in the ruins of the house. A strange incident involving a gas leak had taken the life of this family of six, and as the woman looked at the bodies of the two parents clutching their youngest son as if to protect him, she could not help but remark that maybe sometimes her duty was cruel. She dismissed the thought quickly and walked forward in the ruins. She still had one to go.

Behind what was once an imposing oak bookcase stood a boy, about five years of age, who despite the obvious pain he was in, was still awake. He looked up at the woman coming close to him, feeling the air shift slightly as she walked, her pale, almost translucent skin shimmering in the light of the moon and her blue eyes filled with serenity. She approached him and despite the warmth of the blue eyes he felt a chill gripping his heart. She crouched down so that he could face her and smiled sadly at the boy. It was always hard to take a young life.

"Who are you?" Fear echoed in the child's voice, making the ruins vibrate with a brief instance of life. The woman stood unmoving, facing him, a gentle smile on her face, hand extended slightly as if to touch him. After what seemed like a moment of deep thought she placed her unnaturally cold hand on his cheek. He felt his pain dull, his eyes fall heavily, the beats of his heart slow down. Knowing instinctively that he was going to die, the boy appreciated the contractions of his heart for one last moment.

"Hope." The woman ultimately answered his question softly, but the sound of her voice fell on unhearing ears for the child's soul was no longer bound to this earth.

* * *

><p>Despite it being only eight in the morning, Amelia Cackle wanted cheesecake. As she sat at her small wood desk, looking over some of that morning's mail, mostly junk, she pondered how hard it would be for her to sneak for an hour or so to Cosy's. Of course the first couple of weeks of every year were the worst, because the girls had way too much residual energy left from the holiday, Imogen was too keen to start a thousand new sporting activities, Davina was too enamoured with whatever screeching contraption, or if Amelia was really unlucky, contraptio<strong>ns<strong> she had bought over the summer break and Constance was too irritated with everyone and everything. On top of the emotional chaos, letters from parents demanding to know if their child arrived safe were pilling up and more and more paperwork needed to be read and signed. Therefore she had a lot of things to do and little time to waste. But surely, cheesecake was not a waste of time. It was a necessity.

With that premise in mind, to alleviate her guilty conscience and with the experienced moves of someone who often engaged into secret trips to the town tea shop, she started to look around to identify the location of each staff member. She could hear Imogen in the courtyard torturing… **teaching**, the second years about the importance of physical activity by preparing them to start running in one of her impossible races again. She was sure that Davina was with the first years screeching… **teaching** to them the famous Eye of Toad. With those two occupied there was only one that stood between Amelia and her cheesecake. And that one was the most dangerous. Now, if she thought about it, her contact with Miss Hardbroom that morning had been limited. Although the younger woman had never been especially conversational, they would normally exchange more than a hastened "Good Morning". That morning her deputy had entered the staff room in complete silence, looking a bit paler than usual, muttered her greetings softly, took her black tea cup and left for the potions laboratory. This behaviour would not normally alarm the headmistress, as her deputy had had her moments of being subdued before, but the fact that Constance entered through the door rather than appear out of thin air and the slight shake of her hands when she poured tea in her cup were making her feel a bit uneasy. Amelia sighed and sat back in her chair. Maybe it was her deputy who needed some relaxation and not her.

Her suspicions were confirmed minutes later when the tattered bell at Cackles marked the end of the first period and her colleagues came into the staff room. Imogen, was saying something about starting a new volleyball team and the headmistress was about to remind her of the hazards of allowing witches and balls together in a competition, when Constance materialized next to the closed door. She took a step towards the centre of the room, when with a sudden breathless gasp, the woman doubled over and involuntarily placed a hand on her chest. Both Imogen and Amelia jumped from their seats, made their way towards the woman and the headmistress took her colleague's unnaturally cold hand into hers.

"Constance, what's the matter?" she asked genuinely nervous, helping her deputy walk to and sit on the closest chair.

"Nothing… nothing is wrong…" Miss Hardbroom answered between clenched teeth, trying to control her unsteady breath and her heart which was pounding furiously in her chest.

"Nonsense, Miss Hardbroom, you almost fainted! We need to call a doctor." the gym mistress said firmly, now crouched next to the deputy's chair.

"I can assure you, I am quite alright, Miss Drill" she answered with determination and straightened her back to prove her words. The sudden bout of pain was subsiding and it was increasingly easier to breathe.

"Constance, I must agree with Imogen… maybe it would be prudent to see a doctor…"

"Amelia, nothing is wrong, and that is the last of it!" she said firmly throwing a glare towards both teachers. She would have materialized out of the room that instant but realized, with a high degree of surprise which was well hidden behind her usual stoic expression that she was unable to. "Now, Miss Cackle, I think we need to discuss the plans for career week for the third year girls" she followed in her business-like tone hoping that it would change the previous subject.

"Yes, yes… but first there is something else that I wish to discuss with all of you…" she changed the subject still throwing her deputy a worried look. It was then when Davina Bat, in all her frilly glory, entered the staff room, baton secured in her grey hair and a new batch of freshly cut flowers clutched in her right hand. With gracious, yet erratic, movements she propped herself on her battered old chair and started munching on a plump red rose.

"I have received word from Mr. Hallow that during the summer one of his friends has expressed a wish to become a benefactor for the school…" she said seriously disregarding Davina's interruption.

"And why would he do that?" the deputy asked with suspicion.

"Apparently this gentleman's (she ignored the excited"_Oh a gentleman!_" squeak coming from the chanting teacher) grandfather has recently passed away and one of the stipulations in his will is that his grandson donates some money to charity…" she followed.

"Charity! We are in NO NEED of charity, headmistress!" the potions teacher interrupted in her trademark steel voice.

"I agree with Miss Hardbroom, on this one…" Imogen said and could not help but notice the eyebrows raised in surprise from both the headmistress and the chanting teacher . "I mean, it is quite demeaning to be regarded as a charity… Plus I thought that Amanda's Honeydew contribution solved the school's financial problems…"

"Ladies, ladies! Please let me continue…"she said with a sigh "Mr Hallow says quite clearly in his letter that even if his grandfather wanted to give part of his money to a charity, the gentleman is more inclined towards a school. That is why our chair to the board of governors proposed Cackles Academy. And, Imogen, while Amanda's contribution was more than welcomed, there are still some repairs that need to be done, the roof especially. But naturally, before embarking on such a project he wants to see the school. "

"He is coming here?" Davina asked quickly, unable to suppress an excited giggle.

"Yes." The head of the academy finished and looked at her staff. Davina was positively glowing with excitement, Imogen had a neutral expression and Constance's face was absolutely blank.

"Well, headmistress, it appears that you have already made up your mind on the matter. Do we know the name of our visitor?" the deputy asked calmly, feeling the Amelia's stare and knowing that she was waiting for her reaction.

"Mr Mallard." Amelia answered, pleased that her potion teacher did not explode at the prospect of another male figure in the school, while fumbling for the letter in the massive pile of papers on her desk. "Ah… here it is! Evan Mallard, to be precise" she continued with a certain degree of triumph, holding the letter proudly.

"And do we know when Mr Mallard is to come?" Constance inquired in the same calm and controlled voice. She knew that the visit was already arranged so opposing it would do little good. Furthermore, she felt in no state to oppose anyone and anything at the moment.

"This… Saturday"

"At leased he was considerate enough not to disturb the flow of our classes" the deputy assumed with a hint of sarcasm.

"Well…" the headmistress blushed slightly "I… thought it would be… appropriate… to prepare something in the honour of our guest… Maybe another flying tableau…" she proposed meekly felling Constance's glare intensify tenfold.

"I see…So he does, after all, disturb our classes…" she said glacially

"I could prepare a chant with the first years…" Miss Bat proposed feeling that soon they would be all at the receiving end of one of Miss Hardbroom's tirades.

"Surely, our shrieking and shrilling first years singing some Mongolian nonsense, is just the image that this school wishes to have!" she rose her voice slightly and stood on her feet, trying to ignore the now familiar vertigo. "No! As it is so important for the school, I will prepare something with the third years. Now, if you will excuse me, the said third years still need to learn how to make a Concealment Potion properly."

For a moment she thought of materializing away but felt , for a change, it would be safer to use the traditional manner of transportation. As she reached the door she paused for a second to regain her breath, gripping the handle forcefully._ This was truly getting ridiculous_. The entire morning she had felt out of breath, heart pounding forcefully in her chest and hands slightly shaking. Even something as little as walking ten steps seemed to render her tired and Constance could not help but wonder for a moment if she was truly getting sick. She discarded the thought quickly. She didn't get sick. She never did. Resolved to take a new dose of Wide Awake Potion, laced with an Energy Enhancer, she left the room not looking back at her colleagues.

"She is not ok, is she?" Miss Drill asked the headmistress as the potion teacher closed the door behind her. Both of them had seen her pause at the door and were concerned, not only because she chose to use the door in the first place, but also because for a moment she seemed about to faint.

"No, I don't believe she is…"

"Did I miss anything?" Miss Bat asked innocently as she noticed the concerned look her two colleagues were throwing their deputy.

* * *

><p>Thirty five year old, Noah Elwood had once had a promising career as a healer. He had finished his education at Weirdsisters among the best in his class; he had interned under one of the best cardiovascular mediwizards of his time and due to his family's connections and fortune he was sure to get a position at one of the best hospitals in the country. Quite frankly, ten years ago, the world was his oyster and Noah was more than ready to eat it. Then starting with the death of his father is a tragic plane accident, all went downhill. At the funeral his mother had lost it completely. If it hadn't been for his two cousins, who had more muscle than brain, and a shot of Tranquilizing Potion she would have thrown herself headfirst into the grave of her husband. From that moment, each day, for ten long years things had become gradually worse. First she started to have night terrors, then hallucinations that quickly became full blown delusions. When she had locked herself up for almost five days and refused to come out of her room, eat or drink, for anyone else but her son, Noah made a very important decision. He gave up his dreams of becoming a well respected healer and took on a new daunting task: finding a cure for whatever his mother had, while taking care of her at the same time.<p>

Years and thousands of books later, he stood like everyday, in the confines of his mother's now battered chamber. He placed a hand on the woman's forehead hoping, like every day, that everything will be finished. It wasn't. Her eyes were, terrified as if she did not recognise him. His tall frame, his dark hair and eyes as green as jade, told her nothing. With a sigh, he, as always, declared defeat and left the room in haste. He could not bear it anymore. He could not bear to be the witness of his mother's plight any longer.

"Are you all right?" A woman's voice resounded from behind, but he did not turn to see, for he easily recognised the sound.

He had met Hope Hawthorne in his first year as an intern in the cardiology department of the London Hospital for Magical Diseases and Afflictions. He had just calmed down a fifty something wizard who was positively convinced that he was having a heart attack in spite of not displaying any of the classical symptoms. His only indicator was an acute pain in his upper left side and it took Noah and half of the department half an hour to explain that it was a dislocated shoulder rather than a heart attack. As he was walking towards the cafeteria to reward himself with a well-deserved cup of steaming coffee and a muffin, he could see the then young teenager coming out of one of the rooms of the ICU. He had briefly seen her before, but sixteen hour shifts combined with too much coffee and a shorter than average attention span, made him discard her as one of the patients that came for a consult. But now, as he was heading downstairs, he was dumbstruck. The girl, dressed in a hippie flowing red skirt and a white plain T-shirt was glowing. In the most literal sense. She was emanating a rather soft white glow. Noah would have said that his mind was playing tricks with him, but when the ICU patient went into arrest a few moments later and a myriad of doctors and nurses ran past the girl without even noticing her, he knew that something was really wrong.

His suspicions were confirmed when one of the nurses noticed him staring quite intently at the figure and inquired after his welfare. He tried to explain, in vain, that he was looking at the girl who came out of the ICU and was now leaning casually next to the door, but the nurse kept throwing him a dumbfounded look and kept suggesting that maybe it was better for him to take the day off. Noah then realized that he was the only one who could see the girl and she, as if just registering his muttered conversation with the nurse, turned her eyes on him and lifted a black eyebrow in surprise. With graceful movements she came to him, disregarding the nurse altogether, and with a big smile she said: _"Hi, I'm Hope. Do you want to go to the cafeteria for some coffee?"_ As they went downstairs, he realized that everyone was able to see her.

"Sometimes I think I went to school for nothing. Seriously, what is the use of having a healer's degree when I cannot do anything for her? I try, and try, to no avail" he answered in a dejected voice, allowing his head to rest in his hands while the woman came to him and touched his shoulder gently. In the dim light of the study he looked at her blue eyes filled with sadness. Suddenly as he starred at his companion, his closesest friend, fear gripped his heart. What if this time it would all end, but not in the way he wanted? What if she was here for his mother?

"Hope, why are you here?" He whispered softly as she sat on one of the armchairs opposite to him.

"Do not fret, my friend, she still has long years in front of her…" she answered with a soothing smile and he could not help but feel relief wash over him.

"How long?"

"You know I cannot answer that, Noah" she scolded the older man gently.

"Her mind will go completely and she will lose the few moments of lucidity that she now has. Soon she will be a shadow of the woman she was. And I will be unable to recognise my mother." He stated simply, bitterly. "What use is all of this, if I cannot bring comfort to my own kin? Nature has a twisted sense of humour, you know?" he said looking at the piles of books and research papers covering almost every inch of free space on his desk.

"I took a boy today. Young. Much too young" disregarding his laments, she said softly letting her head rest on the comfortable leather.

The man looked at his friend for a moment. Her black head sporting a short cut, her white skin, her small hands adorned with two rings on her middle finger and thumb, her lean body dressed in a worn pair of jeans and a Rolling Stones T-shirt, revealed nothing about who the woman was. He chuckled inside for a moment, thinking about how so many people saw her and never once suspected that this woman literally held their lives in her hands. Yet even now, when she was relaxed, her blue eyes talked of sorrows and sadness beyond belief. They were the true testimony of her real form and of the horrors she has seen in her short twenty five years. He rested his eyes for a moment longer on her left hand and gasped softly in surprise.

"Hope, are you sure?" the man said eyeing the ring on the woman's left hand. "About using it, I mean"

"I can feel him coming, Noah" she whispered quietly. "Evan is coming, and I need all the help I can get."

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>_ *10 pages and some 6000 words later* WOW! This is honestly the longest chapter I have written in my life.** Firstly, what do you think? Is it worth continuing?**_

_Next up: Milie and the gang make a funny appearance. Davina is more random than ever and with the comming of the elusive Mr Evan Mallard, Constance finds out something that she wished she never knew._


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:**

Dear Reader,

First I must say how very grateful I am for taking a bit of your time to read this story which, at the moment, is so very close to my heart.

I am especially grateful to **HB rules, Aleksandra Hardbroom, blue4 **and** Chrissiemusa, **who have been kind enough to review and tell me their opinions about the first chapter. Also, I must extend a most heartfelt "Thank you" to **NextChristineDaae **who has not only proven to be a most amazing friend, but also whose story _Appearances Can Be Deceptive_ has also been an inspiration, by being the epitome of perfection. Again, all my gratitude towards those who have adopted me into the Worst Witch community and I do hope that the present chapter is up to your standards.

I know you must be frustrated and confused at the sheer amount of space that is spent in favour of my original characters rather than the cannon characters that we have all grown to know and love. As it is merely the beginning of the story, I do feel that those characters deserve a proper introduction, as their background and actions will be very important drivers for the plot, later on. Yet, do not fret, my friend, because I have been trying to maintain a balance between the appearances of the OCs and the cannon characters and subsequent chapters will be focused more on the life of our beloved Cackle's Academy.

As I have previously promised to have shorter Author's Notes, and I am nothing if not a woman of my word, with no further ado, I present the second chapter of Fire and Ice: Book 1.

Yours,

Lemondrope

*gives everyone broomstick-shaped cookies*

**PS: This chapter does contain some graphic scenes containing blood that should not be read by people who are younger than 16.**

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><p><strong>FIRE AND ICE <strong>

**BOOK I: THE WIELDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR**

**Chapter 2: He who doesn't fear death dies only once**_ (Giovanni Falcone)_

"I've been waiting for you." The old man's voice was feeble and weak, but it still held a certain amount of youthfulness and derision.

They usually never talked to her. Either because some of them were unconscious or because most of them could not see her, and even if they could, they never realized who she was. She was fine with that. Yet, on some rare occasions some of her victims were aware of her presence and what her mission was. It was those occasions that Hope dreaded most. Human beings had a strange way of dealing with their own mortality. She had seen them beg for their lives, bargain with her to the bitter end. She had seen them cry, and wallow. She had seen them accept her presence with an air of desolation. None of them had ever been grateful.

"You took your sweet time though…" he said mockingly, sizing up the woman that had just entered the room.

"You should be grateful for that." She said in a controlled voice stepping towards the man.

"Why should I? I would have rather died long ago than live this… " the man pointed his wrinkled hands towards his wheelchair, an empty space replacing his legs. "Happened during the second great war, ya' know? Blasted Nazi's and their bombs! Fo' sixty years I haven't been able to move on my own… I guess I was one of the lucky ones, though… I've seen my best mate shattered to bits. "

The room was shabby and dirty and it held the distinct smell of sweat. The old man and his wheelchair were standing next to the window, which was showing an unkempt garden and a sorry looking pond. On the table next to the man, there were two photographs and an ashtray. With graceful moves and more to keep her hands busy than nothing else, Hope took one of the framed photographs and looked at it. It was a rather old, black and white, picture. It showed a couple holding a baby in his early months of life. The two adults, a tall, well-built male with a clean cheek, dressed in a military uniform and a petite woman with flowing hair and a slightly absent smile, seemed to be at ease with each other. The baby that the woman was holding, peacefully asleep, emanated the same sense of tranquillity like the others. Hope took a second look at the much younger version of the decrepit man that was currently standing in front of her and gave a bittersweet smile. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

"Can I have one before I go?" he asked with amusement noticing the girl looking at the photo of his deceased family while taking a pack of Marlboro from the pocket of his tattered coat and putting a cigarette in his mouth. "Want one?"

Hope raised a perfect eyebrow in surprise and with a nod she obliged. The man amused her and she saw no harm in indulging him. With slow moves she took a cigarette and put it in her mouth, lighting it with a flick of her hand. She took a slow drag, watching the man fumble with a box of matches, his trembling hands making the action of lighting the cigarette impossible. With another flick of her wrist she did it for him.

"Thanks" he said with a nod and looked at the much younger woman "Ya know, all those pictures of you don't do you justice. You 'ave no scythe and you're not all dressed in black…You are quite a beautiful young lass, in fact. You remind me of my second wife, though I wouldn't want to see her where I'm going…"

"You are honestly not afraid?" Hope resisted the urge to laugh at the old man's words, a playful smile tugging at her lips. She took another slow drag to hide her amusement.

"Of you? No chance in hell… if you had a cloak and a scythe, maybe." He said with derision, a mocking smile appearing on his creased face. "Of where I'm going? It can't be much worse than this place…"

"You are the first one that hasn't been afraid " she said in a dream-like voice looking outside the window at the falling rain.

"I'm old. I've lived my life and I have no regrets. " he replied simply. "Can I ask you something?"

"If you must" she said in a much harsher voice, fearing that, like all the others, this man will start begging for his life.

"What happens… after?" the man asked, for the first time a serious expression crossing his features.

"I honestly don't know." Hope answered sincerely, her voice relaxing slightly. "And even if I did, I probably wouldn't be allowed to tell you."

The man raised his eyebrows in surprise but dropped the matter. He looked at his almost finished cigarette and smiled upon seeing that the girl was also watching it intently. They both knew what the end of the rapidly burning tobacco stick meant and he was slightly pleased to see that there was no hint of mischievous satisfaction in her eyes. The woman seemed marginally sad, if nothing else.

"Can you please do yer thing immediately after I've taken the last puff? I want to still be able to taste it…" he looked at her with the same youthful glint and the woman nodded, a chuckle escaping her lips.

For a moment she seemed to disappear into nothingness but he could soon feel her cold hand pressed against his forehead. He took another drag, his lungs filling with smoke, and his mouth tasting the rich tobacco, one last time. With a satisfied smile he allowed his eyelids to close and his arms drop at his sides, outside the confines of the wheelchair. For the first time in sixty years he was no longer in pain. With careful moves, Hope took the cigarette bud from his cold fingers and put it in the ashtray. She watched it burn for a second before, like its owner, it was extinguished forever.

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><p>Constance Hardbroom finally realized that something was really wrong when, for the fifth time that week, she woke up gasping for air. She had never been sick in her life. Even considering the hazards of working and living in a school filled with children, she never even got as much as a cough. The only time she recalled being actually sick was immediately after her mother's death. She remembered her father having to move her around, crying over her at night, too frightened that fate would not only take his wife but also his daughter. She remembered the way in which her father used to hold her hand, hoping that some of his life force would be passed onto her and thus she would be spared. She also remembered the complete joy on his face when she finally woke up from her lethargy and her vow to never worry her father in such a manner again. Yes, since then, Constance had never been ill.<p>

Ever since she had the all too familiar dream involving her mother, the potion mistress found herself unable to sleep more than one or two hours per night. Although she had never needed much sleep, nowadays this seemed to exhaust her more than ever. She was practically living on wide-awake potion, sometimes mixed with an energy enhancer, and she prayed to whatever god was listening, that what she had would pass before any of the girls would notice that their teacher was out of sorts. She already had Amelia, with the subtlety of a herd of elephants, watching her like a hawk, while Imogen and Davina seemed more reluctant to engage in arguments with her. Not that she had much energy for clashes either. Although, Constance had to admit to herself that she felt somewhat touched by their concern, she also could not stand the feeling of complete weakness and uselessness that came with it, and every day she took more and more wide-awake potion, trying to regain at least some semblance of normality.

Clad in her usual purple pyjamas and deciding that it was useless to go back to sleep, she lit a candle and walked towards her working desk. The known feeling of dizziness hit her and she had to put her left hand on the wall to steady herself. A few calming breaths later, the woman sat on her chair, prepared to work on some of her most recent lesson plans when the caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the long mirror next to her oak wardrobe.

The figure in the mirror looked terrible. Constance had never been exceedingly vain and had never seen herself as beautiful. But even she could tell that the reflection was a poor sight to the eyes. Her long dark hair, the only thing she prided herself on, had long lost its shine and had turned into a tangled mess. Her face, although always pale, was now as white as a sheet while dark rings had formed under her hazel eyes. She had lost weight and now her bones were visible underneath her skin, almost threatening to pierce the white flesh. With a shuddered breath she realized that her body was tumbling down like a fragile house of cards. She was dying.

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><p>Before his mother had become sick and he had started his life of self-imposed solitude, Noah used to have a lot of friends. He had friends with whom he went for a drink, he had friends in whom he confided, and he even had what could be called friends with benefits, with whom he indulged in the pleasures of the flesh. None of them could be compared to Hope. Although he had known, from the first time he met her at the hospital, that the girl was special, not only because of her powers but also because of what she had seen and done, he would have never suspected that they would become such good friends. For all intents and purposes, when they had met, they were complete opposites. He was a doctor while she was the one who made his efforts futile. He had the most positive outlook on life, while she, with the knowledge she possessed, saw death as the ultimate release from the terrible confines of this world. He judged mercilessly what she was doing; he despised her lack of conscience and hated, under the circumstances, her apparently carefree nature. No, in a normal situation, Noah would have never befriended her.<p>

But then his father's accident happened and while all others distanced themselves from him, she remained. He never asked why the girl came to the funeral or why afterwards she felt the need to be with him every day and every night during that most atrocious time. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know. Yet, this woman, that he had initially, and maybe wrongfully, despised became a reliable constant in his life. Slowly, but surely, he started to understand her mannerisms, came to appreciate her stubbornness and even stopped being so judgemental regarding her… occupation. That isn't to say, that he approved or condoned her practices, which he still believed to be cruel at best.

Noah wasn't an especially talented or powerful wizard. He was definitely a hard worker and that enabled him to succeed so fast in his profession, but he did not have the talent that others in his year at Weird Sisters possessed. While some of his class mates used to remember a spell or a potion recipe just by looking at it, he used to work twice as hard to equal and surpass them. Yet, despite his less than natural command of magic, he did have a talent of his own. Noah would not call himself a clairvoyant for he could not see the future, but he knew that he could see, either when awake or asleep, more than others could. He didn't know if his friend was the source of his power, but the first person he could see when no other could was Hope. Since that fateful day in the hospital when he shared a cup of coffee with the girl, something that could be called a sixth sense developed. His dreams became much clearer, his perception of feelings around him was more acute and of course, instances from the past or the future came to his mind with ease. Strangely enough, although he could apply his talent to almost everyone, most of his visions and predictions were about Hope herself. It was as if, since that day, their minds had formed an indisputably strong connection and sometimes the woman's feelings, dreams and fears became his own.

As he stood in the small café, the only one in the village closest to Elwood Manor, he could not help but think how much of his life revolved around Hope. Probably as much as it revolved around his mother and her disease. Not only was she a constant in his daily routine, but she was also the keeper of all his secrets, dreams and desires. Like her thoughts were sometimes his, she had made his thoughts and wishes hers. Sometimes she seemed to be the only connection he had with the outside world, the only thing that didn't allow him to succumb to madness. That is why he was currently out of his mind with worry. Since he had discovered that his friend had started to use the ring, he could not help but wonder what would happen if everything went wrong. He knew that she was, like all humans, subject to death, despite her dealings in the area and Noah could not bear to think how bleak his life would be if she were to make the ultimate sacrifice. He took a sip of his sweet latte macchiato and looked towards the door through which the object of his thoughts had just arrived.

"Hey" she said with a smile and gracefully sat on the opposite chair. "I thought we were meeting at the manor"

"I needed to get out of there for a bit…" he said, noticing that she was in better spirits than usual. "Plus, I needed to talk to you about something. In private."

"About what?" she asked nonchalantly and signalled the young waiter to bring her the usual. Testimony of what faithful customers they were, the waiter brought a steaming cup of black coffee in mere seconds and the woman took a sip of the dark and bitter liquid.

"I think I dreamt of your 'friend', last night." Noah said in a whisper, inclining his head towards the girl, oblivious to the fact that they were the only ones in the café apart from the waiter who was playing with his game boy and definitely not paying attention to their conversation.

"You saw Evan? Where was he?" Upon hearing Noah's words, Hope spit the gulp of the dark coffee she had been drinking, in a less than lady-like gesture.

"Yes. He was entering an old castle and he seemed extremely pleased with himself. I could feel his satisfaction coursing through my veins." Noah said darkly

"Why would he be satisfied…? Unless…" Hope whispered while fumbling with a napkin, trying to clean the rapidly expanding coffee stain from her white shirt.

"Unless what?"

"The bastard is not going after me… but after _her_." She said in a whisper more for herself rather than for her interlocutor.

"Are you sure?" his eyes widened in realization, his mind processing all the possible implications of what Hope had declared.

"Not really. But, listen." She said in all seriousness "I know that he can feel that I've started to use the ring. And, there are two ways to kill me: actually kill me or kill her…."

"I told you not to use it… You could have confronted him without it! That blasted thing is more of a liability than an opportunity" Noah snapped eyeing the piece of jewellery on Hope's left hand, and as a form of response, the Ankh on the ring briefly glowed a deep red before going back to its normal golden colour.

"You know that it isn't true, but let's not argue about it. There is nothing I can do about it now. The question is, how did Evan find her?" Hope continued to speak in a calm and rational voice, refusing to allow fear and anger overtake her. "Even I don't know who she is."

"Wait! You don't even know who the person is?" he said, a mix of astonishment and disproval clear in his tone.

"No. I didn't want to get involved. I … well… I felt it would be better that way… But now it is redundant anyway. I need to find her and stop that greedy bastard" Hope stated calmly, her blue eyes flashing for a brief moment with anger.

"I'm coming with you." Noah said simply after a moment's thought.

Hope raised her eyes to meet his and could see the turmoil in the green pools. With a smile she placed her hand upon his and uttered the two words he never expected to hear: "Thank you."

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><p>Trouble always found Mildred Hubble even when she was trying incredibly hard to stay out of it. Before coming for her third year at Cackle's she was resolute to stay out of trouble and not antagonize her formidable, third year in a row, form teacher any further. Yet, as she found herself in the current predicament, she knew that her holiday resolution will go down the drain.<p>

To put it simply Mildred was blue. Not in the depressed sense of the word, but actually blue. As in her skin was currently sporting the colour of a cloudless sky. It all started as an innocent attempt to hide the earrings that her father had brought her from Spain. Enid, always the one to have brilliant ideas, suggested that they made a potion to make an object of your choice invisible to prying eyes. No one could have predicted that her arch enemy, Ethel Hallow, would dare to put blue food colouring in the potion and that, what had started as a blue patch of skin on her neck, would extend to her entire body. The girl looked at her blue face in the mirror above her desk and sighed deeply. The attempts of her friends to solve the issue before any of their teachers noticed had obviously been futile and now she was faced with a terrifying choice. Either spend her entire life as a slightly larger version of a smurf or go to Miss Hardbroom and beg her to reverse the effect of the potion.

The fact that the girl was actually considering the former option stood as proof of how terrified she was of her potions teacher. In spite of what had transpired at the end of last year between the stoic witch and herself, not much had changed. Not that she expected it to. As Miss Hardbroom had said, she only knew how to dance to one tune and Mildred suspected that the tune she was dancing on included her being mean and unfair towards the person she considered as the worst witch in the school. The student would have given anything for that position to be filled by anyone but herself, but as things stood there was little chance of that ever happening. Especially considering the current situation.

As she gathered all the courage she possessed and proceeded to go find her teacher, Mildred could not help but hope that for once Miss Hardbroom would open her eyes and see that it wasn't entirely her fault. The student respected her potion mistress above all others and against all odds, she desperately needed and wanted her approval. Through the small window on the door to the potion's laboratory she could see her formidable form teacher, sitting at her desk, apparently grading some papers, her face impassable and blank as always.

"Girl, are you going to stand there gawping at me, or are you actually going to come in?" Miss Hardbroom said in her strict, cold tone, not bothering to lift her head from the papers.

"What on Earth happened to you, girl?" she asked in an annoyed voice while sizing her recently-blue student up with a fierce glare.

"Please, Miss Hardbroom… It wasn't my fault…" Mildred stuttered, suddenly feeling that her unlaced boots were much more interesting, and less dangerous, than her teacher's eyes.

"It never is, is it?" the potion mistress snapped.

"Can you… can you, reverse it?" the girl asked shyly still not daring to look at her form mistress.

"Come here." Miss Hardbroom said with a soft sigh, motioning her student to approach. With trepidation, the girl stood in front of her teacher who had previously risen from her desk and felt the woman's hand on her forehead. Despite the unnaturally cold touch her form mistress possessed, Mildred could sense a flow of calming energy course through her body and in no time her hands, and her entire figure together with them, returned to their normal rosy colouring.

She was prepared to thank Miss Hardbroom and accept whichever punishment her teacher saw fit, when she noticed that the woman had gone completely white and that her hands were shaking uncontrollably. Then, for a moment everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Her teacher fell into a graceful heap on the floor, to her knees, her shaking hands clutching at her chest. With a few words under her ragged breath, she conjured a stone basin and proceeded to cough her lungs out. Most literally. With every cough, deep red blood flew uncontrollably from the woman's mouth, falling into the basin soundlessly. The sight was not a pretty one. To say the least, it was grotesque and Mildred stood there in complete shock not knowing how to react.

"Are you ok?" Mildred asked, quickly coming by her teacher's side. In hindsight, the girl realized that it was a stupid thing to ask, but back then she felt her brain stop working and her body move on autopilot. Constance's face was ashen and her hands were trembling. Cold sweat dripped from her forehead and blood was coming out of her mouth in an endless flow of red. Long fingers were clutching desperately at the front of the black dress as she tried to regain her breath.

Mildred did not know what to do. Instinctively, she kneeled by her side and pushed back some of the strands of black hair that had come loose from her perfect bun and were threatening to fall in the basin. The woman looked at her and she could sense her quiet plea. She understood that she had never been so vulnerable, so fragile, in front of anyone. She rose from the place next to her and went at the back of the classroom, where, from a cupboard she took two towels and wet them with some cold water from the rusty sink in the potions lab. Going back, she helped the woman, who seemed to be finished with expelling her own blood, to her chair and forced her to sit down. She handed the two wet towels to her teacher figuring that she didn't appreciate being touched more than strictly necessary and watched how the woman cleaned the blood from her lips and hands with one and cooled herself down with the other.

"I should call Miss Cackle… she will know what to do…" the girl stuttered, still too shocked to speak properly.

"Don't!" Miss Hardbroom replied suddenly, her voice although barely above a whisper still retaining its fearsome quality. "No one is to know what happened here. Understand?"

"Are you sure?" the girl blurted out suddenly. Someone was supposed to know about this. Someone should help her form mistress!

"Pray do not make me repeat myself" she said quietly looking into the blue eyes of her student and seeing noting but pure concern. "I will be fine."

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><p>Evan Mallard was nothing like Imogen Drill expected him to be. Although her experience with wizards was resumed to Chief Wizard Hellibore and Algenon Rowan-Webb, who could be both considered eccentric at best, she still did not anticipate the air of normality that Cackle's visitor exuded. Dressed in what looked like a very expensive brown suit, the man carried his impressive frame around with authority and with surprising gracefulness for someone who was about 6'2 feet tall. His golden hair, unruly sticking out in all directions together with the amused glint in his hazel eyes, gave the man, who appeared to be in his late twenties, the look of a mischievous school boy. His manners, simple and polite, betrayed a high birth coupled with a unique brand of nobility. Although it could not be said that he was exceedingly handsome, there was something about Mr Mallard that intrigued the gym mistress. Maybe it was the way in which his movements seemed both gentile and dangerous at the same time. Maybe it was the radiant smile that seemed to hide a hint of bitterness and never reached his eyes. Or maybe, after getting so very used to being deprived of male company, save for Mr Blossom, she automatically felt attracted to the first new man that appeared through the door.<p>

"Ladies, it is so very nice to meet you." He said softly in perfect English despite the subtle hint of a foreign accent in his voice, inclining his head towards the three of them.

"Likewise, Mr Mallard." The headmistress replied motioning him to take a seat at the table in the staff room. On Miss Cackle's orders, Mrs Tapioca had prepared an extra special Italian lunch for them and she hoped that it would satisfy their obviously refined guest.

"Evan, please." He offered the same brilliant smile, and elegantly sat at the table "Upon my word, it this home-made Bolognese?"

"Indeed it is" the other older woman in the room, Miss Bat, said with a squeak

"My absolute favourite… My grandmother was from Italy and I can honestly say that Italian food is one of my guilty pleasures." He said enchantingly while Miss Bat was putting a generous serving on his plate and Amelia made a mental note to thank Mrs Tapioca later.

He took a minute to look at the trio of women while he put a fair amount of parmesan on his pasta. Truth be told, he could not stand both his now deceased Italian grandmother and Italian food for that matter, but the trio didn't need to be made aware of that. Common curtsy should be maintained at all cost, regardless of the situation. The headmistress was round and plump, with kind eyes and greying hair. She reminded him of the aforementioned grandmother and decided, at once, that he had absolutely no use for her whatsoever. The other elderly lady seemed to have a few screws loose. She was exceedingly energetic and chatty, making little sense and he could not understand how this woman could be a teacher. Even if she was merely the chanting teacher, a subject for which Evan held little respect, he thought that both she and the person who had entrusted her with a classroom needed to be institutionalized. As far as the third woman was concerned, Evan was intrigued on two accounts. First, she was a non-witch teacher in a witch school. He suspected that she had to do a fair share of fighting to get her point across and he admired a woman with spirit. Secondly, she seemed to have taken a liking to him. He wasn't stupid, he knew that he had a certain effect on women, mostly due to genetics, but usually the women that were attracted to him were very unlike Cackle's gym mistress. They were flimsy, anorexic, spoiled brats while Imogen Drilled seemed a responsible, sensible woman. He decided, both for his own amusement and whatever advantages might come out of it, to nurture her initial attraction.

His musings were interrupted by the door gently closing behind him and, upon turning, he could see that another figure had entered the room. The magical signature, so different and so familiar at the same time, told him that she was the person he was looking for. Out of curtsy he rose from his seat and walked towards the tall woman, clad in a black dress, which would have been tight fitting had she not lost so much weight the past few days. After the episode in the potions laboratory, it had taken Constance almost two hours and a myriad of healing potions to recuperate, but now she was standing straight and tall, albeit dizzier than normal. While she could not pretend to be fine, at least she could carry her own, constantly diminishing, weight. Evan noticed a look of concern pass on the face of headmistress, who was also now standing, at the sight of the woman and his suspicions were instantly confirmed. It was working.

"This is my deputy, Constance Hardbroom." Mrs Cackle said still eyeing her deputy with poorly hidden distress.

"Miss Hardbroom" he nodded his head again, a look of surprise appearing on his face for a split second before being covered by the cheerful, polite façade.

"Mr. Mallard" the formidable witch merely inclined her head in acknowledgement, not bothering to hide her displeasure at the new presence in the staff room.

"As I was telling your colleagues, please call me Evan." He said smoothly, pulling the chair for her to sit.

The woman raised her eyebrows but accepted the offer, gracefully sitting on the chair. Evan took a moment to look at the woman who, unbeknownst to anyone, even herself, was currently holding the fate of the world in her hands. Or rather, round her neck. She wasn't extremely beautiful, especially at the present time, but he could certainly say that she had an interesting look about her. The way in which she held her slight frame with dignity and control, the sure movements of her hands as she took one of the glasses from the table, the impenetrable, almost stubborn, look in her eyes, they were all things that fascinated him. For a moment he almost felt bad for her. Who knew what she was hiding behind the form-fitting black dress and granite-like expression? Who knew how many times those dark eyes had been filled with tears? Who knew how much pain and suffering was trapped in her stubbornly beating heart?

'Oh well… what needs to be done, will be done.' He bitterly thought and turned his attention towards the entire party of women.

"So, Mr… Evan, what do you do? If you don't mind me asking…" the non-witch member of the staff asked politely, with a certain shine in her blue eyes.

"Of course I don't mind, Madam." He smiled in the same pleasant fashion that seemed to be working on all present apart from the deputy. The most recent addition to the staff room did not only seem completely disinterested in what he had to say, but also seemed more than annoyed by his presence. Evan wondered for a moment if she was suspicious of his motifs for coming to the school or if she had little appetite for novelty. "I am… in the water business…"

"Water business? Do you produce bottled water?" Imogen asked, looking into his hazel eyes.

"No… I just move water from place to place" he said with a certain amount of derision that was incomprehensible to anyone but himself.

"Oh, so you are in the pluming industry…" the headmistress clarified

"I guess you can call it that…" he said in the same light-hearted tone and flashed a seductive smile towards the gym mistress, whose cheeks seemed to redden considerably.

"Now, Evan, in honour of your visit, we have prepared a little entertainment program." Amelia announced with a hint of satisfaction in her voice.

"I have composed a chant especially for the occasion!" Miss Bat interrupted proudly.

"How very thoughtful of you, Miss Bat!" he replied politely and could swear that he had heard the deputy softly snort at his side.

"… Yes… we also have a broomstick flying demonstration that Miss Hardbroom here has prepared with the third years." He headmistress followed, after chewing a generous bite of her pasta.

"Then I am indeed grateful to you, Miss Hardbroom, for broomstick flying is one of the many things that fascinate me about witchcraft" he turned to look at the woman whose plate was empty and had been nursing the same glass of water for quite a while. "It must be amazing to soar into the sky and feel such freedom…"

"It does have a certain appeal." The deputy answered unsmilingly and he could swear that even at one thousand meters above the ground she would be as straight-laced and emotionless as she was in that moment.

"Well, I think flying is a great asset for witches" he put an end to the subject diplomatically and turned towards Miss Cackle. "Now, with your permission, headmistress, I was wondering if I could get a tour of the school"

"Most certainly, Evan!" Amelia said promptly.

"Miss Drill, would you mind being my guide?" he said in the same sweet voice and despite herself, the teacher felt her face redden once more while nodding. "Shall we?" he rose from his chair and extended his left hand towards the blonde woman. As she took it and they both left the table, Evan's right hand accidentally touched Constance's shoulder.

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><p>While Evan and Imogen were walking side by side trough the draughty corridors of the academy, the girls had positioned themselves strategically to catch a glimpse of their visitor before the presentation. A few days ago the student body had been told that a new patron was to come to visit the school. The excitement, quickly stifled by one of Miss Hardbroom's booming threats, didn't arise because apparently the man would donate money for improvements to the school, but because they had a visitor. Something interesting was finally happening at Cackle's. They had already seen him come into the school and some had already placed bets on whether HB would turn him into a frog or not, but now they wanted a second chance to see him firsthand.<p>

"I think Miss Drill is sweet on him" Maud said in a whisper while inconspicuously reading a passage from her potions textbook.

"I wonder what Serge would say…" Enid added with derision noticing the way in which the teacher seemed to gravitate towards the man.

"Forget about Serge! HB would have kittens if Miss Drill and Mr Mallard became an item and he came to school more often! " Ruby followed and all the girls sniggered.

"Hello, girls!" a male voce resounded through the corridor and the girls saw the man in question flash them a huge smile and wave informally at the party.

"Hello, Mr Mallard!" the four voices replied in unison.

"He is quite handsome, isn't he?" Enid whispered as the couple was out of earshot.

"Yes, he is…" Jadu answered with a dreamy look on her face.

"We should go get ready for the demonstration." Maud, the voice of reason, declared, wondering briefly if Mildred's little … blue problem was solved.

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><p>The flying tableau that Constance had chosen to represent with the third year girls was beautiful and tasteful. She had chosen another historic moment from the life of Lucy Fairweather and divided the third year girls into two equal groups: those who were flying and those who were not. Ethel Hallow, the witch that was steadiest on her broom, played, to the delight of her over-inflated ego, the good-witch Lucy, while Enid Nightshade, also a decent flyer, represented her nemesis, Harriet Hogweed. Others, like Ruby, Drusilla and Jadu were also on their brooms showing the other witches and wizards that had participated, albeit with a minor role, in the battle.<p>

Amelia did not often have the chance to truly say this, but, upon seeing the graceful way in which they soared through the sky, she could declare that she was proud of her girls. The entre student body apart from the performers, all dressed in their Halloween best, was seated on some stands that Mr Blossom had created for the occasion, while the staff and their guest of honour was sitting on the opposite side of the courtyard. Davina, clothed in one of her frilly black dresses and wearing her grandmother's pearls, was positioned, with some select few members of the first and second years near Walker's Gate and was providing the musical background. The greatest transformation, though, was that of Imogen, probably proof of how much she liked the school's benefactor. Instead of her usual gym clothes, she had opted for a pair of velvet-like black pants, a simple blue strapless top, and a black jacket made from the same material as the pants. Furthermore, in an effort to look both taller and appear classier, she was wearing the only pair of stilettos she possessed. Black and shiny, the only time she had worn them before was at her best friend's wedding, almost five years previously. The object of the gym mistress' affection was sitting with the staff, placated on both sides by Miss Cackle and Miss Hardbroom and wore a warm, inviting expression on his face as he was watching the presentation prepared in his honour.

With good reason Mildred hadn't been trusted with flying, and was among those that were reciting the ballad. As she stood next to Maud, desperately hoping that she will not forget when her turn would come, she could not help but sneak some concerned looks towards her form teacher. Dressed, like all the staff and students, in her celebratory dark green robes and with her hair loose on her shoulders, Mildred noticed that, despite her obvious pallor, the woman looked much younger and much prettier. Next to Miss Hardbroom, Mr Mallard, with whom the girls had minimal contact up to that point, also sometimes turned his head from the activity in the sky to catch a glimpse of the potion mistress. For a moment, Mildred fought the urge to snigger as she wondered if Mr Mallard fancied HB. If he did, he was sure to end up as a frog, for it was known throughout the school that the deputy hated everything that was male.

"_Let me in…"_ the voice was sweet and almost child-like, but it had a sinister quality to it. Although it seemed barely above a whisper, Mildred could hear it loud and clear and it definitely gave her goose bumps.

"Did you hear that?" Mildred turned to Maud and asked her as discretely as possible.

"Hear what, Millie?" her best friend whispered inconspicuously

"The voice" she whispered back

Maud shook her head wordlessly and started to recite yet another line from the poem, while Mildred's gaze was once again attracted towards her form teacher. Suddenly the woman seemed to be even paler, her lips having a strange bluish tint to them. A small circle of red light seemed to shine through the dress her form mistress wore. Although there was nothing special about it and could be dismissed as a trick of the eyes, Mildred felt a unique attraction towards the light, for it looked so alluring, so warm, so mesmerizing. She could not understand why, but she wanted the circle of light to be hers. She felt that is was already hers. Because she was so focused on the small light, the girl failed to notice that it was her turn to recite one of the lines. The deputy turned her stare towards the culprit of the interruption and their eyes met for a second. Blue against deep hazel. The woman's eyes widened in surprise and irrational fear. With a breathless gasp and clutching at the dark material directly above her heart, Constance Hardbroom gracefully fell to the ground, senseless.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>

Alas, we have reached the end of yet another chapter. I do hope it rose to your expectations. Also, feel free to send me your comments, flames, questions, random thoughts, or whatever through your reviews as I would truly like to read your opinion. I do promise that I reply to each and every one of my reviews.

If you did not become bored with the story yet, here is a little sneak preview for the next chapter.

_Sneak Preview: Mildred has a revelation. Miss Bat is suddenly saner than ever. Amelia realizes something very important about her deputy while Noah and Hope race against time_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note**

Dear Reader,

First, it is my duty to once again humbly thank you for returning to this story. You have no idea how much it means to me that you are reading it. I also, once again, must thank those who went the extra mile and sent me their wonderful reviews: **Chrissiemusa, ****HB rules** ( I strongly advise you to read her story, _War of Dominion_, as it is an excellent piece of fiction), **chocomoon****, ****Aleksandra Hardbroom** and **blue4**. I also need to deeply thank the wonderful and patient** NextChristineDaae**, who is one of my favourite authors, and extend my apologies for neglecting her in favour of this chapter.

This third chapter has been the bane of my existence in the past few days. It has, most literarily, haunted me every single moment. Although I did not plan to post it until the beginning of next week, I felt it would be most unfair to you, my friends, to let you hanging in suspense longer than necessary. As such, I proudly present the product of two sleepless nights and an indecent amount of coffee.

Yours faithfully,

Lemondrop

**PS: this chapter contains blood and mentions of suicide**** and should probably not be read by people younger than 14. **

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><p><strong>FIRE AND ICE <strong>

**BOOK I: THE WIELDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR**

**Chapter 3: Only those who have not completed their perfection must suffer the wheel of rebirth** (Jean Paul Richter)

She had always wanted to be a bird. A quick sparrow, a gracious swallow or maybe something really exotic and colourful like a parrot. She had always dreamt to taste the ultimate freedom. To soar through the sky. To never have a care in the world. For a moment, she imagined being weightless and allowing herself to be carried by the wind. Where would the wind take her? She certainly hoped it was far away from here. She looked down at the sleeping city of London and it seemed so far from her, so out of reach. It was as if an invisible screen stood between her and those sleeping Londoners. Then, she looked at the sky, the stars seemed so close to her, and maybe, just maybe, she would touch one tonight.

The figure that sat next to her was that of a young woman, dressed in white, with pale skin and big blue eyes. She wore an impassable expression on her granite-like face and an inhuman fear gripped at the girl's heart. She dangled her legs against the border of the fifty stories apartment building she lived in with her parents, and refused to look at the woman whose posture was incredibly straight and unmoving.

"Are you here to tell me that I am wrong?" her voice sounded foreign to her own mind, and once again she was convinced that what she was about to do was the right course of action.

"I am here to tell you nothing" the figure said coldly and looked at her with unblinking eyes.

"Are you here to stop me?" the same foreign sound. Who was the person muttering those words? Although she could feel her lips moving, she was convinced it wasn't her own voice.

"Do you want me to stop you?" the woman replied with a hint of derision.

"No" it was a most sincere, heartfelt response. She did not want to be stopped. She did not need a saviour.

"Enlighten me, why do you want to jump?" the woman's tone had lost its hint of mockery and contained pure curiosity mixed with anger. "No. Don't tell me. Your parents are cutting your allowance? Or maybe the store didn't have the dress you wanted? Or no…Maybe your fifth grade boyfriend is finally seeing some other girl…" she snapped, irritation clear in the blue glare.

"You don't get it…" the girl whispered, turning away from those eyes. Those judgemental, furious, cold eyes whose stare seemed to piece right through her soul. She had seen those eyes before. Every day, in fact. Everywhere she went. Every single person she met seemed to have the same judging stare. Yes, what she was about to do was indeed the best possible course of action.

"Don't I? You are young and in decent health. You have no cuts or bruises which means you haven't been abused and your clothes are of the finest quality indicating substantial wealth… You have absolutely no reason to jump." the tone was becoming increasingly aggravated and the girl wished the lecture would be over soon. Although not much older than herself, the woman had started to sound like her mother, or maybe like one of her teachers.

"What do you expect to find in death? Why do you want it so fervently when others would give anything to be in your place? What do you expect to leave behind?"

Like so many times before, the girl felt it would be pointless for her to explain. It would be pointless to tell a perfect stranger that she wanted to find freedom in death, that she would gladly switch places with anyone less fortunate and that she expected to leave nothing behind. Yes, maybe her parents will cry for a bit. Just to let the press know that they were mourning the loss of their daughter. Of course, her mother would wear her waterproof mascara so shedding some tears would be ok, appropriate even. Or maybe she would faint at the funeral. That would get the press going.

"If you cannot realize how lucky you are, how fortunate and blessed you have been, then I urge you to jump. I urge you to fall fifty stories down and smash your skull on the pavement!" the woman said with spite, her blue eyes shining maliciously "And if there is something beyond, I pray that you will be in such torment that every single minute you will look upon what you have left behind and cry bitter tears for what you have lost" the tone had changed once again. It had lost it angry quality and now it was dripping with venom.

"Shut up!" she snapped and suddenly rose to her feet, her entire body being dangerously close to the border of the flat roof.

"You are a fool" the woman said with a touch of finality, between clenched teeth, seeing in the girl's eyes nothing but irrational stubbornness. "I'll be waiting for you when you get down"

With those words, the figure disappeared into nothingness and the girl wondered, for a second, if she had been the product of her imagination. Maybe it was her conscience telling her how stupid she was. Or maybe she was finally going mad. It would certainly explain why her parents insisted to spend half her free time with various pompous psychologists. But it didn't matter anymore. In a few minutes she would finally be free. She once again looked at the buildings and streets of London and at the starry sky. Those concrete constructions looked so ugly, so tainted while the sky looked so beautiful, so inviting. Yes, she had definitely made the right decision. Maybe, just maybe, if she extended her arms hard enough she would catch a star on her way down.

Hope watched the fall with mild interest. The girl was tumbling and turning as air was hitting her mercilessly, her arms extended slightly as if to grip something that wasn't there. Then with a thud, she collided with the pavement and her bones cracked loudly, breaking upon contact. She had wanted to stay up in the sky, but the sky had rejected her and she was returned with promptness in the concrete and steel confines of the human world.

"Foolish child" Hope muttered under her breath as she touched the bloody head of the girl. For a moment the girl's charcoal eyes flicked open and, as she finally realized what death was, her face became a disfigured, bittersweet grimace. With a flick of her wrist Hope cleaned the corpse of the blood that seemed to be coming out of its every pore. The child's parents didn't need to see her like that.

* * *

><p>"CONSTANCE!" Miss Cackle's shout pierced into every soul present with the fierceness of an already bloodied dagger. It was the scream of an animal in pain.<p>

Amelia had never felt the need to have a more athletic figure, but upon seeing her deputy drop to the ground like a dying leaf, she cursed her plump frame with all her might. She should have been able to break her fall. She dropped to her knees and crawled to the potion teacher's motionless figure, hair splayed widely on the pavement in the courtyard and skin so pale. So very pale. After she reached her, Amelia cradled the younger woman to her chest, resolved to never let go. She felt the woman's cold skin under her own flushed one, she could see the bluish, unhealthy tint to her face and her usually so very expressive features set into a mask of blankness. With horror, she realized that Constance wasn't breathing. The headmistress and her deputy looked like some grotesque pieta, the older woman holding the younger in a strong grip to her chest, rocking her back and forth, much in the same way that a mother rocks her child to sleep.

As soon as Amelia's blood curling scream was heard, Imogen also turned towards the deputy and ran various scenarios in her head. She knew that, if it wasn't too late, the woman needed a hospital, a doctor or at least some form of medical help. In that respect Cackle's was sadly unprepared, the person currently lying on the pavement being the only one who had a modicum of medical training. Although it was a school and accidents were bound to occur, in the academy's entire existence nothing beyond the occasional scratches or colds ever did happen. As such, none of them had felt the need for a nurse or for some basic CPR training. So between Davina's wild cold remedies, Imogen's knowledge of sports injuries and Constance's ability to deal with cuts, bruises and mild illnesses, the girls had been safe. But, she instinctively knew that at this time, all those would be insufficient. She felt her throat constrict and felt, for the first time in her life, completely and utterly useless. Yet, with the presence of spirit that ever so often characterized her, Imogen knew that the first thing they were supposed to do was check her pulse. It was with that idea in mind that she knelt next to Miss Hardbroom and extended her hand towards the woman's pale wrist.

"Don't touch her!" Amelia snapped, eyes widened in horror, as if Imogen was about to desecrate something that was beyond sacred.

"But, Amelia… we need to know…" Imogen replied with a slight tremble. They needed to know if she was still alive. They needed some form of certainty. She needed it.

"I said: DON'T TOUCH HER!" the headmistress yelled, tears coming on her wrinkled cheeks, a wave of energy striking the non-witch and forcefully pushing her to the opposite side of courtyard.

"She will be fine… Right, Constance?" Amelia said more to herself rather than anyone else, being oblivious to Imogen's shocked expression. "Yes… You will be fine…"

Evan, who was looking at the unfolding events with concealed amusement went to the gym mistress and offered a hand, which she accepted with silent gratitude. He could see a myriad of feelings appearing in the woman's eyes: anger at being unable to do anything, uncertainty at not knowing what was going to happen, pain at what was occurring and a hint of betrayal. He supposed that, not having magical powers, she had always felt like the underdog and now, to not only be discarded completely but to also be removed, without her consent, by magic, justified her feelings of betrayal. In a gesture of solidarity, Evan put his arm round her shoulders and at the contact, the woman turned and buried her face in his shoulder, hot tears coming in a rapid succession. "It's ok. She will be ok" he whispered softly in Imogen's ear, although he hoped, with all his might, that he was wrong.

Davina, in a rare moment of complete lucidity had the inspiration to send all the girls out of the courtyard and inside the castle. After some quiet protesting on the part of the students, and some very hysterical shouts from their chanting teacher, they were all ushered into the decrepit old building, which did not exactly prevent them from witnessing the spectacle, with morbid curiosity, form the windows of their rooms. Feeling that she did as best as she could and seeing the state that the headmistress was in, the chanting teacher decided it would be prudent to join Imogen and observe what was happening from a safe distance. It truly pained her heart to not only see Miss Hardbroom lifeless, but to also be a bystander to Amelia's grief. She wanted to do more. She wanted to have some wise things to say. She wanted to go to the headmistress and tell her everything was under control and that Constance would be fine. Unfortunately, she could not. Thus, with a sigh, Davina stood next to Mr Mallard and Imogen and watched what looked like a scene from a Greek tragedy rather than an instance in real life.

"Come on… Wake up…" the head of Cackle's let out a whimper, gently caressing the woman's forehead. She was so very cold. Why was she so cold? " Constance… wake up….Please…. " Why would she not wake up? Constance was powerful. Constance was indestructible.

"You are on dorm duty tonight…" she whispered, mechanically caressing the pale face. Her skin was so very soft, her black hair was like silk and for a moment, the headmistress appreciated how peaceful her deputy looked. "You need to wake up… The girls will make a racket if you don't… " she said more forcefully, chocking on her own tears. No. Constance could not look peaceful. Constance needed to look stern and powerful and angry and… alive. "Please… We need you… I need you …" she followed with a tone of finality, placing a soft kiss on the wax-like forehead.

For an eerie moment, the silence that had taken hold of the courtyard was broken by a shrill. It hurt their ears. It was a cruel, destructive, horrible shrill but it also had an odd melodic quality to it. Above the academy, a bird with a colourful plumage and a tail of gold and scarlet could be seen, stripes of fire shooting out with every flap of its wings. Some meters above the fallen woman, the bird started to spin in what seemed to be a tarantella of madness. A passionate, macabre, bittersweet, relentless dance of life and death. The creature was spinning and shrilling. And in its shrill such extraordinary sadness could be heard. Spinning and shrilling. Such pain and misery. It seemed endless, eternal. As it was spinning, its wings were converting the air around into thin stripes of fire which, like their creator, moved erratically and so very gracefully. The bird seemed to be drawing something, using the black sky as its canvas and fire as its paint. There was something oddly poetic in the way in which the thin flames gracefully formed the Key of Life; it was so beautiful and so mesmerizing, that all those present could not take their eyes away from what was happening in the sky. When the symbol was finished the bird stopped moving and everything was once again plunged into silence. With another desperate cry, it burst into flames.

The symbol descended in all its fiery glory towards the deputy and placed itself on the woman's chest. An unnatural heat was coming from the woman and the headmistress had to let go of Constance for the contact was mercilessly burning her flesh. The stripes that had formed the Ankh were untying their knots and pure scarlet fire was engulfing the black figure of the teacher, and for a moment Amelia was scared that, like the phoenix, Constance would give a last cry and burst into flames. Yet, to her surprise, the potion mistress' body seemed to absorb the flames and the bluish tint to her face seemed to be replaced by a much healthier colour. When the last of the flames disappeared, the hearts in the courtyard and at the windows all beat in unison, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

"Headmistress can I be excused for dorm duty tonight?" the voice escaping the pale lips was weak and feeble, but it brought such relief to all present that the tears of concern were immediately replaced with tears of joy. "I do feel a bit out of sorts…"

* * *

><p>Noah felt that he was loosing his grip on reality at an alarming rate. First when both him and Hope had reached Elwood Manor, planning to try an explain to his mother that he will be gone for a while, the girl had given an unceremonious "fuck" and with no further explanation ran towards his office. By the time he had reached the room she was sitting cross-legged on his black leather sofa, eyes closed and long pale fingers forming a circle, connected to a sphere of white flames. As soon as his friend closed her eyes, his mother started to scream. An unbearable, incoherent yell, which not only pained his ears, but also pierced his heart. He found the woman that had given life to him in a most deplorable state. The still-ginger hair, which was usually neatly plaited, was limply framing a flushed face and falling into black eyes that had an insane shine to them. While she was screaming, the woman stood on the carpeted floor, short fingernails scratching it mercilessly, touching one of the walls and repeatedly banging the back of her head against it. She was doing it so forcefully, that Noah was surprised to see that apart from her bloodied fingertips, his mother didn't sustain any further injury. A black bruise on his left cheek and two shots of sedatives later, Noah was back in his study waiting and praying to all gods in heaven that Hope would soon wake up from what seemed like a trance.<p>

He was pondering the benefits of throwing water at his friend, when she suddenly opened her blue eyes and, with a grave expression, dashed towards the bathroom on the first floor. Dutifully following her, the man could hear his friend emptying the contents of her stomach and swearing loudly, while muttering something about "self-righteous bastards" and "retarded children". For the second time that day, Noah felt left out of the loop. First, his mother never behaved like that without provocation. Actually, as far as he could remember, her episodes of insanity had never been so violent. They were usually quite quiet, the woman preferring to sing to herself rather than shout. Then there was Hope. Not only had he been almost sick with worry, but he also had the uncanny feeling that his best friend knew more about everything than she let on. He could at least wish that she would voluntarily offer an explanation for her moment of unconsciousness. When she came out perfectly composed, offering a cheerful smile, Noah fought the urge to throttle her. How the hell could she smile at him when he had just had the worst few hours of his life?

"Care to offer an explanation?" he snapped while preparing a stiff drink for both of them.

"Well... I made contact, I suppose…" Hope said calmly as she gracefully sat on the same leather sofa accepting the glass of whisky he was offering.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" uncharacteristically, he rose he voice above his usual calm baritone, probably the effect of the adrenalin still coursing through his veins. "No riddles, Hope… I am seriously in no mood for riddles" he gulped down the first glass and after a moment of thought he poured himself another one. He deserved it.

"I felt something was wrong with her as soon as we came back." She started to explain in the same even voice, taking a small sip and grimacing at the bitter taste of the alcohol. "So, I decided to take a look…"

"Take a look?"

"Well yes… In theory, there should be a mental connection between the two of us. But, as I found out, that woman's mind is so twisted and complicated that it is really hard to establish a connection. Every time I tried I would hit a block of ice. Most literally." She answered, gently tracing the pattern of the glass with her fingers "I have no idea what she has been through, but it makes her put amazingly strong barriers around her mind."

"So? I thought you didn't exactly want to associate with her anyway? Why would you want to get into her mind?" he continued asking, mentally damning Hope and her twisted train of thought.

"Because of what happened tonight. Had I been able to actually get into her mind, I wouldn't have had to resort to more extreme measures…" she said evenly but upon noticing the blank look on Noah's face, she decided to explain further. "She was dying. I could feel her life force slip away so fast it was almost…. unbelievable. Had I been able to get into her mind, I could have stopped the process internally, or so I hope... But as I couldn't, I had to resort to using something that I usually never have to use. "

"Was it because of Evan? Or because of…" he trailed deep in thought, once again pondering

his friend's talent to get into trouble.

"Neither" she answered bitterly

"What do you mean neither? If it wasn't Evan and if it wasn't the curse then why would she be dying?"

"I have no idea. But what was killing her tonight was so strange… it had a really unique magical imprint. It felt like it was old and young at the same time. New and ancient, extremely good and extremely evil…" she sighted softly finally decided to gulp down the remaining drink.

"Damn. As if taking care of Evan wasn't enough… now we have to deal with… whatever that oxymoron is" he said bitterly taking the glass from her hand and putting it on his desk.

"Well, at least we know what to do…"

"We do?" quite frankly after three glasses of whiskey and Hope's riddles, Noah was rather slow on the uptake.

"Yes… find the castle, go there. I get to establish a connection with the woman, so we don't have a repeat of last night and… " she started to explain

"But if Evan is already there…" he interrupted, his voice sharpening considerably when pronouncing the man's name.

"Evan knows that because of what I did tonight he cannot touch her for a while" a pleased, and rather smug, smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

"Do you care to explain what your little trick involved?" he asked although he probably knew the answer. Hope wasn't one to talk about what she could or could not do.

"All in due time, my friend… all in due time…" she predictably answered, a joyful glint appearing in her eyes.

"Anyway, next time when you decide to randomly leave your body…or whatever you just did, please give me at least a few minutes' notice" he said in complete seriousness "And mention when you are coming back, as well!" he followed and Hope merely laughed.

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><p>Evan felt the urge to bang his head against the wall. Hard. After he had gallantly offered to carry the deputy head of Cackle's, bridal style, to her room, he had left the woman with the other three teachers and had returned to the staff room to ponder what had trespassed mere minutes before, in silence. He knew what Hope had done and he didn't like it one bit, for two reasons. First, his inability to lay a hand on Constance Hardbroom for an indefinite period of time was a huge hindrance in his plans. Yet, this hindrance could be trespassed. He had watched the woman carefully. She was strong, strict and unyielding. A nature such as hers was bound to attract enemies, so Evan supposed that it would not be exceedingly hard to track one of those and make them do what he could not. Or even if he could not find one that was willing to embark onto his little project, he could always create a new enemy. He did have some perfect candidates in mind. Yes, in that respect, the opportunities were unlimited.<p>

It was the second reason that bothered him the most. The ritual that Hope had invoked, which required more than magic and far more than elemental power, proved how strong the woman was. He knew that Hope was childish and hated to lose, but she wasn't stupid. As such he could infer, with a certain degree of confidence, that her little stunt with the Phoenix did not endanger her, otherwise she wouldn't have resorted to it. How did she get such power? Quite frankly it was beyond him. And he needed to investigate the matter further.

"How is Miss Hardbroom? Is she better?" Evan asked automatically as he heard soft footsteps enter the staff room.

"I don't know… Amelia and Davina are with her." Imogen answered, tiredly slumping on one of the shabby armchairs. "But I don't think that they understand much of what's happened either…"

"And you? How are you holding up?"

"I don't know… I honestly don't. I mean, we've never been close, Constance and I. We always had our differences and we always clashed, but seeing her like that, tonight…" her voice trailed, slightly trembling, vivid images of the deputy lifeless coming to her mind. "She's always been here, you know. Always. Unmoving. Like a very steady point of reference… "

"I see… " Evan whispered softly and laid a hand on hers, in what he hoped to be perceived as a comforting gesture. "If there is anything I can do to help…"

"I doubt there is…" Imogen answered sadly, and as the man sat on the armrest of the armchair she leaned into his embrace, drinking in his powerful, manly scent.

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><p>As she came out of Constance's room, Davina pondered the benefits of locking herself in her cupboard and never coming out again. She was a chanting teacher, and thus an artist and firmly believed that nature didn't endow her with the skills to properly react in a crisis. As such, in the light of the current events, the prospect of her closed, sheltered space seemed increasingly more inviting as time passed. The other members of staff didn't understand why she kept locking herself up and automatically blamed the action on pure insanity. But despite appearances, she regarded the cupboard as her protection mechanism, and merely did, in a more eccentric fashion, what they all did. Yes, they all had some form of defence system in place and when times got hard, like the chanting teacher, they metaphorically locked themselves up. Imogen had her jogging under the cover of the woods, Amelia had her cheesecake, or any form of cheese for that matter, and Constance had her work. Poor Constance. How Davina pitied the woman that was so very different from herself.<p>

In all the years that she had been at Cackle's, Davina had never seen the woman leave the school for longer than a day. During the summer, when Imogen was with her boyfriend, when Amelia was visiting one of her countless relatives and Miss Bat herself was on one of her exotic chanting expeditions, the stern, straight-laced woman stood behind, claiming that she had work to do and that someone needed to take care of the school while the others were gone. Although she had never, for obvious reasons, asked, Davina knew that it wasn't the true motivation. She knew that most likely, outside the school Miss Hardbroom had no one. No friends, no lovers, no family. Ironically enough, the terrifying potion teacher was using Cackle's Academy the same way that Davina herself was using her cupboard. Maybe they weren't so different, after all.

While walking to the staff room for a well-deserved cup of tea, Miss Bat briefly wondered if there was something, apart from work, that Constance was passionate about. With a certain degree of sadness she realized that in all the years she had known the potion mistress, she had never seen her do anything that could be regarded as a pastime. Of course, she knew that Miss Hardbroom was an avid reader, but she always read potion books, and she suspected that the woman enjoyed taking walks in the forest, but she only went there for potion ingredients. She lived, breathed, and embodied her job every passing day, hiding her all that she felt under the black dresses and the tight hair. Constance, what a beautiful and appropriate name for someone who was the personification of constancy.

Davina entered the shabby staff room only to see Imogen leaning in Mr Mallard's embrace and she fought the urge to snigger slightly at the sight. They looked good together. Both blond and toned, they looked like one of those fanciful fashion advertisements in the centre of London. Had it not been for the dire situation in which they found themselves, the chanting teacher would have speculated more, possibly even visualize their future children. Yet, as it was, she could not help but wish that she had, at least once, seen Constance as relaxed in the arms of a man. She could never understand the deputy's dislike for men, and she suspected something in her past had occurred that triggered an immense distrust for the male species, but she had to admit to herself that someone like Constance with someone like Mr Mallard would make an even better couple. The deputy was beautiful, with her dark eyes, flawless shape, long flowing hair. She had an air of mystery about her and had she not been so authoritarian and austere, probably men would fall to their knees for her favours. Davina sighed quietly, moving towards the tea pot. There was so much that Constance hadn't lived and hadn't experienced.

"Davina, any improvement?" Imogen asked, slightly startled by the appearance of the chanting teacher.

"She woke up briefly to tell Amelia that she was fine, but was unconscious again in seconds" she answered while pouring herself a cup of hot tea and adding a considerably amount of sugar.

"And Miss Cackle?" Evan inquired, still not releasing his hold on the gym mistress.

"Thank God, she is calm now" Davina didn't want to be reminded of the earlier display of grief. The wound of seeing her dear friend in such a state was still too tender, too fresh. "Tea? Evan? Imogen?" at their twin nods she poured two more cups and handed them swiftly to the couple.

"Ladies, I am afraid that I have matters of extreme importance to attend to, in the morning, so I must away" he said calmly, sipping the way too sweet liquid that had been handed to him. "But, I will return as soon as possible, to make sure everything is alright" Evan added upon seeing the slight disappointment on the gym mistresses face, his hand gently tracing circles on her back.

* * *

><p>Mildred entered what she knew to be Miss Hardbroom's room with a gentle, quiet step and was surprised to see that it was not much different than her own. The walls of the room were gray and the furniture was sparse, consisting of a wardrobe, a desk, a chair, a bed, a mirror and an impressive bookcase filled to the brim with leather-bound volumes. There was absolutely no trace of personal items, save for an aging photo on the desk and a black cat purring softly in one corner. In the double sized bed, her potion mistress lay motionless, and the flicking light from the candle on the desk made dancing shadows appear on her pale, wax-like face. She was wearing her infamous purple pyjamas, her hair had been plaited at her side and the red covers of the bed were drawn to her middle. As Mildred approached with caution, she could see how frail her teacher looked and it scared her. Miss Hardbroom, although utterly despised by all students was after all the most reliable of the teachers in Cackles. She was the one that could solve any problem, protect them from any harm, and prevent any disaster from occurring. But Mildred doubted that the woman lying prone in that bed was able to do such things. She looked too weak, too fragile, and too human. She wasn't HB anymore.<p>

Feeling a new wave of courage flooding her at the realization of her teacher's humanity, Mildred stepped closer to the bed and in one of those irrational gestures that were proof of her impulsive character, took the woman's hand into her own. She had such beautiful, pale hands. Thin and feminine, having small almost invisible scars on them, probably courtesy of the woman's trade. But what surprised Mildred most, was how soft those hands were. Never in a million years would the girl have expected something about HB to be soft. She wondered how many of her assumptions about her form teacher were wrong. She wondered if Miss Hardbroom ever felt hurt when she heard the students spit her name out in spite or swear at her behind her back. She wondered if HB had always been like this, or if there had been a time when the woman had smiled. As she continued to hold that gentle hand, Mildred sincerely hoped that there had been a time when her teacher had known pure joy.

"Mildred, what are you doing here?" Miss Cackle emerged through another door, which the student suspected it lead to a bathroom,

Quite frankly, Mildred didn't know how to answer the headmistress' question. As she was neither suicidal, nor terribly masochistic, the girl would normally have never been caught, after curfew, near HB's room. But this was not a normal situation. From the moment that she had seen Mr Mallard carry the deputy inside the castle she _knew_ that she had to see her teacher. She had no idea why, but she just knew that she had to see for herself if the woman was safe.

"I just wanted to make sure that Miss Hardbroom was safe." Mildred opted for the truth still holding the teacher's hand in her own, her blue eyes widened with worry as she looked at her teacher. The hand was a bit warmer than before.

Miss Cackle briefly raised her eyebrows in surprise at seeing the how carefully the student was holding Constance's hand and realized what a poor judge of characters her deputy was. Out of all the students in the school, Mildred Hubble was certainly the one that had incurred most of her formidable potions teacher's wrath. And yet, it was Mildred Hubble that stood there, holding her hand. Amelia appreciated the bitter irony as she pulled the chair from the desk next to the bed, on the opposite side of the girl and sat on it.

"Miss Hardbroom is a strong woman, Mildred. I am sure she will pull through." Amelia answered, forcing an encouraging smile on her features. Oh, how she wished her words to be true. "And you, my girl, need to go to bed."

Mildred thought about protesting but decided against it. She knew that she had broken about ten school rules in coming to the room and after all Miss Cackle was still the headmistress. As she carefully placed Miss Hardbroom's hand back onto the covers, she wondered if she should tell the headmistress about what had happened in the potion lab. Taking one last look at her teacher she decided against it. It wasn't her secret to tell, anyway. Plus, above everything else, she craved, now more than ever, the potion mistress' trust. With a muttered "Good Night" towards Miss Cackle, the girl made her way out of the room as quietly as she had entered. Unbeknownst to anyone, as Mildred closed the door behind her, the pendant resting on Constance's barely moving chest, glowed red for a moment, before turning to its normal golden colour.

* * *

><p>After making a list of all the castles in the country, cross-referencing with locations and photos, and exhausting his entire library, Noah was frustrated that it was Hope that had found what they were looking for. Purely by accident. Like all families of noble-birth, the Elwoods received, every year, promotional catalogues from the Witches Guild that listed various schools in the country. He supposed that it was either a way for the Guild to attract finance towards their schools or to ensure that young witches and wizards from prominent families did not go without a proper education. It was while being bored out of her mind with their tedious work and randomly looking through the most recent catalogue, that Hope found the same castle Noah had seen in his dream. It was shabby, run-down by years, and apparently a school called Cackle's Academy.<p>

"Why would anyone send their child to this place?" the girl wondered in amazement as she took a closer look at the small picture of the ruined old building.

"Hey, don't be so quick to judge. Maybe it's a good school…" he said absent-mindedly, while trying to look up more information on what was apparently known as Overblow Castle.

"I seriously doubt it. I mean, I wonder why the building isn't condemned. The roof does look like it's about to fall off…" she answered more for the sake of conversation than nothing else. Quite frankly, if the person she was looking for was inside that building she couldn't have cared less about how it looked.

"Well, my darling, apparently we are going to Wales…" he cut her musings short, finally managing to find a proper address for the school. Like most witch schools, Cackle's was usually easy to find by broom but hard to pinpoint by more conventional ways, mostly because the paranoid witches at the top of the guild were afraid that too many non-magical people will find their schools and start a witch hunt. Noah hardly imagined that their fears were founded as most people nowadays not only embraced magic but wanted to come into contact with it as well. Moreover, in addition with its less than clear location, the school was at the top of a mountain. As Noah, like most wizards, had a natural fear of broomstick flying and he doubted that Hope would ever mount a stick in her life, he was becoming increasingly upset with the fact that the school was not only in the middle of nowhere but that it was also at the top of a bloody mountain.

"Wales? Really… it could have, at least, been in a drier place…" she said with derision, looking over Noah's shoulder at what he was furiously writing. "Do you really need to make a list of what we need and what we need to do?"

"Hope, you are my best friend and a really powerful witch, but you suck at organization and planning. If it were up to you, we would charge headfirst in out nightwear in the middle of the night." He replied and she mockingly pouted while leaving his side and throwing herself on the couch.

"What do you suggest, genius? How will we infiltrate the place?"

"Listen up. I have a plan…" Noah raised his head from the paper and looked into his friend's eyes, a satisfied smile forming at the corners of his lips.

* * *

><p>Miss Hardbroom's fainting spell and subsequent amazing resurrection was the talk of the school. As usual, rumours ranging from their teacher being immortal to her being a zombie were spreading like wildfire. Bets were made on how long their teacher was going to be confined to her sick bed and people wondered if they were ever going to take potions again. Despite their teacher's dire predicament, most of the student body could not help but feel relieved at having some days without the stern witch looking down at them. They knew that nothing truly awful could happen to HB anyway, she was HB after all, so a few days of no one appearing out of nowhere on them, of no one handing out random detentions and of no one shouting, seemed like an inviting prospect. Only one girl knew better.<p>

Ethel Hallow had always been proud of her family's status. It not only meant receiving instant respect everywhere she went but it also meant her meeting interesting people and going to exciting events. It was a bit like being at the centre of the world. And at one such event, despite the unfortunate circumstance that had caused it, Ethel was certain that, on a smaller scale, she had seen the same thing happen. She didn't exactly remember everything from that day as she had been only five, but she did remember that when her nanny didn't show, her mother announced at the breakfast table that Ethel and her sister were to go with them to a funeral. Ethel had never been to a funeral before. She, of course, knew that it was when people who had died where being buried, but she had never attended one. Hence, clad in a brand new black dress and her dirty blond hair pulled in to a ponytail she felt a tremor of excitement while holding her father's hand. When they reached the graveyard, that excitement disappeared.

Five year old Ethel decided, then and there, that she hated funerals. Everyone was so very sad, especially the deceased's family, everyone was crying and such stifling despair was surrounding her, that the girl had to desperately fight the urge to scream and run in the opposite direction. She could not remember who was being buried, she only knew that the person had been a close acquaintance of her father's, but what she could remember was seeing the bird. She recalled that after a particular embarrassing display from one of the mourning family members, she noticed the phoenix soar through the sky in all its scarlet glory. Like the previous night, the bird was shrieking as if in pain but no fire was emerging from its wings and Ethel was surprised that no one, but herself, had heard that awful shriek. She watched it in fascination and horror as it circled the grave twice and then disappeared into nothingness.

Later, when they arrived home, Ethel tried to ask her parents about it. While a proficient witch, her mother knew little about magical creatures and was unable to give her daughter a proper answer and her father, bless his heart, was, as always, clueless. So the girl went to her family's extensive library and read about it. Not much was written about them; apart from the fact they died in flames and were reborn from their own ashes. People said that phoenixes were a symbol for rebirth, that they were soothing and healing. But Ethel knew that there had been noting soothing or healing about the bird. It was as if watching the bird didn't mean watching the cycle of life, but the cycle of death. She suspected that, in both instances, the bird didn't come as a symbol of rebirth but as a symbol of fatality. And if her suspicions were correct, Miss Hardbroom wasn't as indestructible as everyone thought.

"Drusilla, let's go ask Mr Blossom for some flowers for HB…"

* * *

><p>Amelia had been watching her deputy for hours and every time Constance's chest went down she desperately hoped that it will rise again. Although her potion mistress had always kept her, and everyone else for that matter, at an arm's length, the headmistress had grown to be attached to the firm lady. What she felt for the younger woman wasn't friendship, it was beyond that. It was more like the affection that a mother bears for an accomplished child. With some sort of maternal desperation, Amelia stood by and watched the state to which, the woman she had started to regard as a daughter, had been reduced to.<p>

Amelia never pried in the staff's personal issues, but she always hoped that they would trust her enough to come to her with their problems. With each of them she had forged a different relationship based both on respect and mutual feelings of friendship. When Imogen's father died, she was the first one to know. When Davina lost her last remaining family she came to her old friend with her sorrow, rather than lock herself up in the closet. They all, both old and new, came to her and spilled their grief, and for her part, Amelia did her upmost best to help them, even if it sometimes only meant providing a compassionate ear and a hot cup of tea. All but one. She had known that her deputy was unwell. She had seen in her shaking hands and heard it in her shuddering breaths and yet the woman didn't come to her. The head of Cackle's didn't know whether it was because Constance was used to dealing with everything on her own or because she didn't trust Amelia as much as she trusted her. Maybe it was a mixture of both.

A soft knock was heard at the door and within seconds, Evan Mallard, stood in the middle of the deputy's room in all his manly glory. He had taken a shower, so his hair was wet and stood at odd angles, and his brown costume was replaced by a much more casual attire, a pair of blue jeans and a green sweater. He smiled briefly at the headmistress and took a long look at the motionless figure on the bed.

"I am sorry to disturb you, Miss Cackle, but I wanted to pay my respects before I left."

"Leaving us so soon, Mr Mallard?" Amelia asked out of politeness as she could not care less if the gentleman stayed or left.

"I am afraid I must do so. But, if it isn't much of an imposition, I would like to call again, to see how Miss Hardbroom is doing" he answered smoothly, with a reassuring smile on his face.

"Of course, Evan. You are welcomed at Cackle's at any time." She responded with the same involuntary civility. With a nod, he walked to the headmistress and handed her an envelope. He smiled encouragingly as she took it.

"This is for some initial repairs and of course, to take good care of your deputy. Next time, when hopefully things will be calmer, we will have a more formal encounter and see what needs to be done around the school." He explained softly, inclined his head and left the room without giving Amelia a chance to say anything else.

Out of curiosity, the headmistress opened the envelope. Inside, there was a check, with colonial writing and a flamboyant signature at the bottom. Upon seeing the sum written on the check, Amelia gasped. It was too much, far too much. With that amount of money they could repair the entire roof, repaint the entire school and refurnish the classrooms. Either Mr Mallard had no idea what the value of money was or he wanted to buy their affections. If it was the former, she could not help but think how oblivious the young man was, but if it was the latter she could not help but wonder why.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe we are picking flowers for HB!" Enid muttered in dissatisfaction as she tried to reach a particularly beautiful bluebell.<p>

"Enid, that's poisonous!" Maud admonished slightly seeing the flower that her friend was reaching for.

"Well, it's not like she's going to eat them…"the girl said in frustration.

"Yes, but she will know that it's poisonous… She might think we tried to poison her or something." Mildred agreed with Maud, holding a wide array of colourful flowers in her left hand. "We should try to find a pretty ribbon for them…"

"Why do you care so much, Millie? You, of all people, should be glad that HB is out of action for a few days." Enid had given up on the flower and now sat unceremoniously on a mound of dirt.

"Well… I think she is really sick… and we haven't been exactly supportive of her up to now … and she is our form teacher…" Mildred tried to explain but found that she was unable to. Her newly found attachment to her teacher was a mystery to herself as well. Although she supposed, or hoped, that it was because of what had happened the past day in the potions laboratory, she felt like there was more to it. Anyway, at that particular moment, for reasons that were beyond her, she felt fiercely protective of her potions teacher.

Maud and Enid exchanged a knowing look but didn't question their friend any further. They both knew that Millie sometimes had some sort of hunches, more like premonitions, and that they made her act in ways that sometimes were beyond them. And yet, every time, Mildred, against all odds, had done the right thing. It was as if she had a sixth sense in identifying the right course of action and taking it. Unbeknownst to all of them, even to herself, she had become the leader of their small gang and they trusted her judgement above every one else's. Hence, if Millie said that they needed to pick flowers for HB, they would deplete the entire forest if necessary.

"What colour should the ribbon be? " Enid asked for the sake of conversation while looking for something to transform into a ribbon.

"Black?" Maud suggested, clearly thinking of Miss Hardbroom's choice of attire.

"No. Blue." Mildred answered dreamily. "I think she would like blue."

* * *

><p>When she opened her eyes properly, Constance felt the light of the sun bother her eyes and wondered for how long she had been unconscious. Trying to lift herself up, but finding, to her utter annoyance that she didn't have the strength to do it, she looked for a moment around the room. A chair was pulled next to her bed, indicating that someone had been there with her and two bunches of flowers were placed in a vase on her desk. One of them contained wild flowers picked from the woods and was sloppily made while the other one was neat and precise and was made of the white roses that Mr Blossom grew at the back of his greenhouse. She briefly wondered, groggily, who had brought them.<p>

"Oh, you are awake." The headmistress emerged from her bathroom with a glass of water in her hand. The woman looked tired and was still in her formal robes, so the deputy supposed that she was the reason for the chair. "The third year girls thought you might like them…" the headmistress explained, seeing her eye the flowers and Constance weakly smiled. She felt so tired.

"I do like them" she whispered softly. She feebly raised her hand to indicate that she wanted the vase and Amelia quickly obliged, bringing it to her. The woman painfully lifted herself up and took the bunch of wild flowers. They were so messy and sloppy, but they smelled like the woods they had been picked from. She inhaled their scent deeply and she could imagine herself outside, under the clear sky feeling the autumn sun on her skin. The ribbon was ridiculously tied, as if someone had put way too much effort into making it look artistic but its colour was wonderful. It reminded her of the sea. Inhaling the powerful scent again, Constance smiled slightly. Although she wouldn't admit it in a million years, she loved her girls.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong>

Well, my friends, we have come to the end of the third chapter. I hope this chapter rose to your expectations. Please send any comments, questions, thoughts, angry words that you might have through your reviews. I do read, appreciate and reply to them all.

If you still wish to read this fiction, here comes a little sneak preview from chapter 4:

Noah and Hope put their plans into motion, Evan develops his relationship with Imogen and the students have different reactions to their potion mistress teaching again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **

Dear reader,

First, I must extend my apologies for this belated chapter. Due to personal issues I was unable to post it sooner, but I do promise that I will try not to have a repeat of this performance any time soon. I am extremely grateful if you are still interested in my little creation and the fact that you are reading this means the world for me. As far as those who have sent me their wonderful comments are concerned: **Chrissiemusa, chocomoon, Aleksandra Hardbroom** and **HB rules **(who I have to openly commend on the awesomeness of her story, War of Dominion). A deep heartfelt thank you goes to a person who in such a short time I have come to regard as a dear friend: **NextChristineDaae**.

This chapter is the product of a lot of travelling, lack of internet, sheer boredom and frustration and a sense of duty towards those who deemed this work of fiction worthy to be read and followed. Although, I do feel that this particular chapter can be improved, I would find it unfair to let you wait any longer, especially when I also need to distance myself from it. I apologise if it is not up to the usual standard and promise to redeem myself in my following work.

Yours faithfully,

Lemondrop

**PS: this chapter contain****s some disturbing images of blood and nudity, and should probably not be read by people younger than 14. **

**FIRE AND ICE **

**BOOK I: THE WIELDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR**

**Chapter 4****: ****The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.** (Mark Twain)

The woman didn't struggle and certainly didn't beg because, most likely, she was unable to see her. Thus, Hope thought, as she gently placed her hand on the sweaty forehead, that her job there would be done quickly, painlessly, with no contact involved. She liked these situations best for two simple reasons. First, Hope wasn't the kind of person that could relate well to emotions she could not understand, allowing herself, in most circumstances, to be guided by reason. Secondly, because, despite Noah's frequent jokes that her heart was buried somewhere deep in a coffin, six feet under, it pained her to see people suffering and afraid. She couldn't quite understand why those whose souls she took were frightened, as most of them had quite a bleak and pitiful life. Maybe it was the fear of the unknown, or maybe they thought of all the things they would never get to do if they were dead. If she were in their position, she would have welcomed death as an old friend. She would have seen it as the ultimate, blessed release.

"Why did you do that?" a child's voice rang behind her and Hope sighed in defeat. It wouldn't be as easy as she had anticipated.

Children were so much more perceptive than adults, mostly because of their innocence. When they were young and unknowing, they believed in mythical creatures like the Tooth Fairy, Santa Clause or god knows what else. Also, because their minds held such purity, they could interact with supernatural entities. They could see them, talk to them and, if willing, touch them. This meant that the child could see her, although she was invisible to everyone else. As they grew into adults, very few of them retained this ability, mostly because somewhere in-between infancy and maturity the capacity to unconditionally believe in things that aren't there is lost. Those that preserved their gift were either those that came from a magical background or carried a certain naivety and purity into adulthood. Those were known as psychics and were usually doomed to jests and ridicule among their peers. The girl found it ironic that although every human had an inertial desire to find out as much as possible about his own mortality, most individuals closed their minds to the very explanations they sought.

"It's my job." She said simply turning towards the source of the voice. It was beyond her why she even bothered explaining; maybe she had some sort of masochistic streak or maybe, at moments such as these, she needed to be reminded of her own humanity by interacting with others.

A small, scrawny child of about seven or eight stood in the doorway, dressed in dirty pyjamas. His dark-blond hair fell into unkempt ringlets around his face and his entire appearance spoke of neglect and even abuse. Looking at the motionless form of his parent, the child approached the woman and, with tender, child-like movements, he caressed the now-ashen face contorted in a grimace of pain. Hope saw fresh bruises on his forearms and long, thin cuts on the exposed patches of skin on his legs. They were perfectly straight, almost parallel to one another, and seemed to form a gruesome optical illusion. She shuddered to think what that child, that innocent soul, had been forced to go through. Droplets of water were falling on his cheeks and true sorrow shone through his vivid green eyes. Gazing in those eyes, Hope knew that she didn't stay to be reminded that she was human or because she was a masochist. She had stayed to remind him that life is worth living and that it is not only a pitiful succession of hurtful events.

"Why?" he asked calmly, trying to wipe the tears that had fallen on his mother's corpse.

"Because this is how the world works. We are born, we live and we ultimately die." The woman explained kindly, a hint of sadness clear in her low voice at seeing how gently he held the hand that had mistreated him. Apparently, having a mother, even a bad one, is better than not having one at all.

"If we all die, why do we bother living?" his voice was so questioning and held such pain that his interlocutor could feel her own heart give a jolt.

"Because, I believe, each person's life, no matter how short it is, or how meaningless it seems, changes something" she had chosen the diplomatic answer she gave everyone when asked that same question, as she quite frankly had no idea what to say to him. His innocent enquiry had so many potential answers and people much smarter than Hope had tried to answer that very question since the dawn of man. Despite her dealings with fatality, she didn't have a better idea of what life was than most humans. The only certainty she had was that of death and never bothered to seek a meaning to her life. Was she truly alive or did she merely exist for the sake of existing? Ironically, she was as clueless as the child in front of her, and realized that maybe she existed because someone who did what she did was supposed to exist. Maybe her life maintained some sort of cosmic balance.

"When I die, will you come and do the same thing to me?" he asked with the same unmoving, unnerving, tearful stare, much too mature for a child his age.

"It depends" this time, Hope took a longer time to ponder her answer before responding, even if she could have simply dismissed it with a 'yes'. Something in the innocent green stare fixed upon her shook her to the core and made her want to be truthful. There were so many factors to take into account; there were so many variables to consider before answering. To begin with, how could she explain to the child, that, like all the others that she took, his mother's soul was one of those condemned to eternal damnation? How could she explain that the world was probably better off being rid of his mother? How could she do that? Especially as he, himself, was not aware that he was the prime benefactor of his parent's death.

"On what?" he enquired, his small brain trying, for the first time in his young life, to process the workings of this world.

"On your choices" she said patiently, her voice carrying a tone of finality, indicating that the conversation came to an end and she was no longer at liberty to say much more.

"She looks so pretty…"the child whispered softly, patting his mother's reddish hair and inhaling her powerful, cheap, prostitute perfume.

"She does, doesn't she?" the woman replied and took a moment to take in the sad tableau. Muttering some words under her breath, she could see red, fiery letters and numbers forming above his head. Her lips curving in satisfaction, she disappeared into nothingness, without a trace that she had ever been there. The child had a long life in front of him, and she could only hope that, when it came to an end, it wouldn't fall upon her to take his soul away.

* * *

><p>Like every morning, at four thirteen sharp, Constance Hardbroom entered the almost bare bathroom connected to her bedroom and turned on the shower. She never used hot water, regarding it as an indulgence of the flesh, which made one weak. With swift, robotic movements she checked the temperature of the water and finding it, as always, satisfactorily refreshing, she proceeded to take off her purple pyjamas. The way in which the woman undressed herself had the ease of an ever-so-often practiced ritual. First she, with nimble hands, undid all those small buttons at the front of the shirt. Then, as if afraid to be left bare, she allowed her long, black hair to cascade down her front. Safe from prying eyes, even her own, she took off her shirt, folded it neatly and placed it in its assigned place, next to the marble sink. With the same practiced precision she took off her pyjama bottoms and cream lingerie. There, unclothed, in front of the unforgiving mirror, no longer stood the fierce deputy of Cackle's Academy, but a woman whose pain and sorrow was embedded in her flesh.<p>

She never looked in the mirror above the sink. She always ignored it. In fact, she didn't understand why she never bothered to remove it. Yet, this time, her hazel eyes, treacherous things, turned their gaze to see the exposed, feeble, and almost frail, lady in the reflection. Whoever the woman was, she wasn't Constance Hardbroom, the potion mistress that had inspired fear in the hearts of students for the past fifteen years. That woman, with her pale, sickly flesh and sunken cheeks, could never inspire fear. That person, whose hands had an inertial tremble, was unable to brew anything. That human, whose ribs protruded the pale skin and bones stuck out at odd angles, looked more like a scared, malnourished, child than a grown woman of almost thirty five. Hot tears fell on her cheeks as she observed and understood what she had been reduced to. Was that it? Will the end come soon? Constance had no idea and she neither had the wish or the energy to investigate. They all said, Amelia especially, that all will be well. But, despite all those well-meant wishes, the potion mistress, as well as her pitiful reflection, knew better.

They say that when an individual's natural cycle comes to a close, that person knows. He can feel it in his bones, he can feel it in the finality with which his heart beats, and he can feel it in the way in which his senses dull. Thus, Constance was aware that her body was fighting a potentially useless battle and she was so very tired of it. If her life were to end at the age of thirty four, then so be it. As she could feel the cold water fall on her over-sensitive skin, she considered the prospect of death for a split second. She wasn't scared of it; she accepted it and maybe, in some way, expected it. Her mother, after all, had also died young. Younger than her, in fact. Truth be told, what she was scared of was the process of dying not death itself. How much more would her body crumble before finally give up? How weak would she be at the end? In fact, if she thought about it in more depth, she could understand that she was, ultimately, scared of being weak.

Her hair fell in a tangled mess on her back and she methodically washed it with her herbal shampoo. The silky locks slipped through her fingers and she realized that she had never had short hair. Ever since she was a child her hair had always been long, falling in wavy curls on her back and she had never bothered to change it. How would she look with short hair? She tried to picture herself with some sort of pixie haircut but found that she was unable to, and bitterly thought that her hair was one of the many things she had never seen change, she had never experienced. She was a creature of habit and alterations to her life unnerved her. She always sought constancy, regularity and even monotony, above excitement and surprise and that, apparently made her miss out on the many things the world had to offer. With the dedication and organization that characterized her, Constance involuntarily started to make a mental list of the places she had never seen, of the things she had never done, but soon found out that they were too many to keep track of. She wondered how hard it would be for her to go and visit Paris, or watch a movie in a cinema, or buy a dress that wasn't black or even, one morning, take a shower that wasn't freezing cold. Who would notice and who would care? For once, now that she felt her life to be empty, bleak and almost meaningless she wanted, needed to be selfish. In a surge of defiance, she touched the shower faucet she never used and looked at it with a strange gleam of determination in her eyes. The small red letters proclaiming the word "hot" seemed bold and rebellious, as if daring her to trespass her daily ritual. With a shuddered breath she complied and immediately felt the stream of warm water fall on her head and shoulders. It seemed so inviting and so soothing that the woman immediately felt herself being lulled to sleep, a gentle feeling of drowsiness and calm rising in her chest. It didn't feel right. She didn't feel like herself anymore. With a much firmer hand she closed the hot water tap. She had spent years, decades even, becoming the woman she was today, the firm, unyielding Constance Hardbroom. She had carefully constructed every character trait that woman had, weeding out what she found unnecessary, and she would do anything in her power to die as Constance Hardbroom and not as someone else.

With the same ease, she poured some of her magnolia-scented shower gel and started to gently wash her colourless skin. She unconsciously touched the white scar defiling the pale flesh of her lower abdomen, a scar that was the product of her one and only, less than happy, relationship. Albeit healed, for her it still felt raw to the touch like a painful, vivid reminder of what she had lost and would never have. Yet again, a series of what ifs flooded her brain and she could feel salty, hot tears fall on her face, mingling themselves with the cold water. There had been a time when Constance didn't exist and she was known as the carefree, innocent Connie who loved her father above everything else in the world. Connie loved the sun, and colour. Connie wanted to become a famous artist or a famous writer and loved to dance. Connie was pure and unknowing, and greeted everyone she met with a smile. She had killed Connie immediately after she entered Witch Training College at the age of seventeen. She had been forced to, and even now she mourned her loss.

Turning off the cold water tap, she stepped out of the shower and avoided looking in the blasted mirror above the sink. She wrapped a large, white towel around herself and quietly muttered a spell to dry off her hair. With the effortlessness of a woman that was aware of both her body and her movements, she proceeded, in an orderly, methodical fashion to get dressed. First, she applied her scented body lotion, one of the few vanities she allowed herself, and then she put on the dark silk lingerie and stockings. After that, she immersed herself into the painful process of combing and plaiting her long hair and tying it up into a tight bun. Fifty comb strokes and twice as many pins later, she easily slipped into one of her, once thigh-fitting, dresses, first removing invisible specks of dust from the slippery material. As a finishing touch, the woman applied a coat of red lipstick on her lips and placed everything she had used neatly on the shelves next to the sink. When she was fully clothed, she could finally look up with no fear, for in the reflection of the mirror, albeit more battered than usual, stood the familiar figure of Miss Constance Hardbroom.

* * *

><p>Mildred Hubble hated mornings with deep passion. She loathed the moment in which she woke up on her already worn off mattress, to face the wooden grinds of the ceiling. She despised having to drag herself out of the bed, walk through the poorly heated corridor, just to get to the restroom. But most of all, she despised that no matter how early she tried to wake up, it was still later than the others. Anyone who went to a boarding school, especially one as old as Cackle's , knows that ,because of the old plumbing system, hot water is a commodity that comes on a first-come, first-served basis. As such, for the past two years, Mildred, against her wishes, had taken impossibly cold showers in the morning and was resolute, in her third year as a student in the academy, to never let that happen again. It was a matter of principle, really. Hence, at five o'clock in the morning, for the first time in her life, she stood wide awake in the middle of the room and pondered if Foster's Effect will hit her, full force if she lit the candle by magic rather than fumble in the darkness for the box of matches. She quickly decided it was better to light it manually, because, knowing her luck, the effect would surely touch her and she would probably end up setting a member of the staff, possibly HB, on fire. The girl forced herself not to imagine the consequences of such an action, as they were too terrifying to even think about. Suffice to say that she already had a taste of what being a frog meant and she wouldn't like a repeat of last year's incident.<p>

Finding the matches and her fluffy, pink towel simultaneously, she lit the candle and tiptoed out of the room, into the cold corridor. A small light was shining downstairs and she was pretty sure who was using one of the classrooms at that unholy hour. It was beyond her how her form mistress had the energy to be the first person awake and the last person to go to sleep in the entire school, but she did have some pretty good guesses, all of them involving some sort of potion. Stifling a yawn, the girl wondered if she could ask her teacher for the same potion as it would have made the matter of the shower and staying awake throughout the day much simpler. HB would probably dismiss her swiftly, saying that it would be both unhealthy and irresponsible of her to try to use potions only to take a hot shower.

As she entered the damp bathroom and put her towel on one of the multiple hangers, Mildred wondered if her teacher was sick because she didn't get much sleep. Although Miss Cackle had assured her, both privately and during the school assembly, that the potion mistress was only slightly under the weather and would recuperate in no time, the student wasn't too sure that what the headmistress declared was true. Especially, as she had seen her teacher, only a few days before, cough up her lungs in the middle of the potions lab. She had a feeling that Miss Hardbroom was in a greater trouble than anyone, but her, realized and she truly wanted to help the woman to the best of her abilities. It was when she entered the shower cabin that it dawned on her that her form mistress had been on her mind from the moment she had opened her eyes up to that point.

From the instant she had first seen her formidable teacher, the woman had provoked a deep impression upon the young girl. It was natural, normal and perfectly understandable, as she was the first person in Mildred's life that never tried to cuddle her, sugar-coat things and apparently held an immense dislike for her. From her first week at Cackle's, HB had been on her mind in the same way a bomb about to explode is on the mind of the individual that tries to get rid of it. Being the worst witch in the academy and living in an enclosed space with someone as volatile and quick-tempered as the potion mistress seemed, to Millie's mind, much like swimming in a tank full of sharks. It would be irresponsible of her not to think of the woman, but never in a million years did she expect to spend most of her time awake reflecting on how HB was faring. She smiled with satisfaction and a particular sense of triumph, as the warm water touched her skin.

Her hands started to wash her long hair quickly and with dexterity and the student wondered what kind of shampoo Miss Hardbroom used. She had seen the woman's long, silky locks, much like her own, and knew, from experience, that her teacher must have some very good ways of taking care of her hair. Maybe she used some potions or, like Mildred herself, some special shampoo that made the hair stronger. Or perhaps she used a spell to never have tangles. Once again the student contemplated asking her and Millie snorted quietly at the thought. Imagine her and HB sharing hair-care ideas and products. She would certainly end up as a frog, or some other animal, before even suggesting it.

"This is getting ridiculous!" Mildred muttered softly, understanding that, once again, she had been thinking about her teacher too much.

She could not understand why but ever since she came back from the summer holiday, she had felt an ever-present wish to be close to the woman and to get to know her. To understand her, her motifs and her character. She liked to think that it was because of the conversation that the two of them had at the end of last year, in the dungeon, but she knew, at the back of her head, that it was so much more. It was as if, for whatever reason, a bond, a magical connection, had been forged between the two and it made her almost obsessive towards the potions teacher. Drying her hair with her pink towel, the student speculated whether there was a way to terminate the connection or not. She certainly didn't want to spend the rest of her life fixating on what HB felt or thought. As she let the still damp hair fall on her back, the girl caught a glimpse of herself in one of the six mirrors above the six sinks in the student bathroom and involuntarily gasped. Maybe it was her overactive imagination, but the reflection in the mirror wasn't that of her fourteen year old self. The person was a tad older, carrying a cross of her own features and that of her potion mistress', her long dark hair falling in perfect waves on her back, her cheekbones high and blue eyes having the shape of Miss Hardbroom's hazel eyes. What was most striking about the appearance was that, round the young woman's neck, a golden necklace, with a round pendant, glowed red.

* * *

><p>The third year students were still speculating whether Miss Drill or Miss Bat would take their class, when their formidable potions mistress closed the door behind her and instructed them, in a clear, no-nonsense voice, to quiet down. She looked as straight and tall as she always had, and if not for the slightly more pronounced dark circles round her eyes and the almost insignificant shake of her hands, no one could have guessed that a mere three days before the woman had been bed ridden.<p>

"Our topic today is one of the most powerful concealment potions in existence: The Chameleon Potion" her voice held a hint of excitement and the corners of her lips slightly turned up upon noticing her students paying attention and trying not to miss a word she said "Like the name suggest, this potion allows the witch that uses it to take the colour and texture of the environment, perfectly blending in any scene. Although it is not as effective as a classic Invisibility Potion, its effect lasts much longer and, if brewed properly, it should render the user virtually impossible to be seen. Turn to page fifty four in your books for the ingredients and brewing method…" feeling a bit wobbly on her legs, she lowered herself gracefully on her chair and intensely watched her students start working.

While she made her way to the back of the class to collect the powdered root of asphodel, Maud Moonshine appreciated once again how much their teacher loved her job. HB wasn't well and anyone with half a brain could see that. Although she tried her hardest to hide it, her shaking hands, the fact that she hadn't materialized out of nowhere in the class room, and the subtle, almost unnoticeable, weakness in her voice were tell tale signs that, despite appearances, the potions mistress wasn't her usual powerful self. Maud admired and respected her teacher, not because of her superior skill, but because of her dedication to her students. She supposed it was only natural in a school as small as Cackle's for affinities to be formed, for teachers and students to form close relationships that could be compared to friendship, but that certainly wasn't the case with Miss Hardbroom. Although she did keep everyone at an arm's length, and she was as warm as an ice cube in a freezer, the fact that their form mistress cared for them and the Academy was obvious in the way in which she protected them, much like a lioness protects its cubs. Maud wondered for a split second if this was because Miss Hardbroom had no one else to bestow her affection upon. If that was the case, she could only feel sadness for her teacher but also a selfish sense of gratitude.

As she cut the hellebore root into tiny, cubic pieces, Ruby Cherrytree hoped that she wouldn't be the one testing the potion. Sometimes it seemed that HB picked on her as much as she did on Mildred and Ruby didn't exactly appreciate that. She had no aspirations to be a top student, she wasn't exactly fascinated with potions and she knew that her career after finishing Cackle's would probably involve science rather than magic. As such, she always tried to do her moderate best to pass her classes with a high enough grade, but apparently for the potion mistress that was not sufficient. Every time something was to be tested she would always choose Ruby to go first, and the student suspected that it wasn't because she was sadistic. Miss Hardbroom was many things, but she wasn't stupid and could recognize intelligence when she saw it, and she did see plenty of it in her less than interested student's mind. Hence, the girl suspected that pushing her to test things was the woman's way to challenge and ignite a spark of curiosity and awareness in her. She had long ago learned to not resent her teacher for that, which certainly didn't mean that HB had succeeded to make her more interested and involved in the art of potion making. After all, how can you resent someone that only tries to do things for your benefit and show you that you have endless possibilities? If anything, she was grateful for her attempts.

Enid Nightshade struggled to dice up the monkshood and mentally swore at her potions mistress. She hated potions for two reasons: one, she found them completely useless as most of their effects could also be achieved through spells and second, she couldn't stand the woman in front of her. Perhaps it was the way in which she responded to authority, or maybe it was a personality clash between herself and her form mistress, but there were days when Enid would have liked nothing more than see her teacher burn in the pits of hell. Looking up for a moment, she could see the woman involuntarily clutching at her desk and taking deep breaths as if trying to steady herself, and the student felt a surge of pity invade her soul. Ever since she had been transferred at Cackle's she had regarded her form mistress as a formidable adversary, as the last pillar of authority without whom she, and all the others, would be allowed to do whatever they pleased. But now, seeing how ashen and distraught she appeared, Enid's contempt had lessened and it had been replaced with some sort of empathy. The type of feeling one has when witnessing the fall of a giant.

As she added the powdered asphodel root into her mini-cauldron, Jadu Wali tried to keep a low profile. She was conscious that she had no special talents to boast with, that her skill in magic was less than amazing and that the only way for her to get out of potions classes unscathed was to be as invisible as possible. To the shy, quiet girl the potions teacher inspired fear beyond belief. From the first moment she had set foot in the academy, she had instinctively known that Miss Hardbroom was not to be tampered with albeit she wanted to suffer the dire consequences. Her strong impression of her form tutor was only magnified tenfold by the way in which she treated Mildred, and Jadu was grateful that she wasn't in her friend's shoes. Of course, the girl was aware that HB would never, ever, consciously inflict any physical harm on them. If anything, she was more likely to protect rather than hurt them, but that didn't make the student less afraid. She hated people who raised their voices as it made her incredibly uncomfortable, even if the shouts were not directed towards her. And Miss Hardbroom seemed, on the days she was most volatile, the absolute master of shouting.

Ethel Hallow stirred in the potion counter clock-wise, counting softly under her breath. Despite being Miss Hardbroom's favourite student, the girl did not have an especially high regard for her teacher. She truly believed that she was entitled, mostly because she was a Hallow, to the preferential treatment and the extra attention he received. As such, it wasn't with respect or with admiration that she looked at her teacher that morning. It was with morbid curiosity. Unlike her pears, Ethel knew that something fantastically powerful, beyond reason, was harming their deputy and if that force truly wanted her dead she would unequivocally die. As such, she closely watched her teacher's predicament the same way a bystander watches an accident about to happen, greedily taking in the goriest details so he could re-tell the story as accurately as possible.

Mildred sighed quietly and prayed to whoever was listening, that HB would not notice that her potion was a disgusting shade of yellow when it was supposed to be clear pink. Despite her better efforts to stay fully awake and pay attention to what she was putting in the cauldron, her quest for an early hot shower seemed to work against her, as ever so often her eyes would involuntarily close. Looking at the graceful way in which the potion mistress slumped, albeit straighter and more rigid than a normal person, on her chair, a hand lifted to her forehead and another clutching the desk, she knew that HB wasn't faring much better than her. Maybe, just maybe, the potion mistress was too tired to notice her botched potion. Knowing that there was little she could do to improve it and having time to spare, Mildred took out a white sheet of paper and started to randomly scribble on it. With the confidence she lacked in potions, she drew lines in black ink, which soon formed a life-like copy of Tabby. The cat on the page seemed friendly and Millie smiled somewhat satisfied at how accurate and natural it looked. Intensely searching, more out of boredom than anything else, something to fix or add to her drawing she noticed something unexpected. Taking into account what had happened that very morning it could mean that she had finally lost her senses and succumbed to insanity, but she was pretty sure that the drawing was moving.

* * *

><p>Imogen Drill could feel the proverbial butterflies flying in her stomach while thinking for the hundredth time of the small note that had come for her with the morning post. Written on expensive cream paper, in a neat and rather flamboyant handwriting the few words exuded the easy confidence of their author, and the woman could not help but smile slightly at their formal, yet familiar style. It was as if Mr Mallard was completely sure of what her answer would be and although it was a bit infuriating that her feelings had been so obvious, the fact that their exposure had the desired effect was indeed pleasing. Without noticing the staff room door open with a creak, the blond woman took the note again, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, and a slight emotional tremor in her hand as she read the simple yet convincing words. Oh, how she wished Serge could be as direct and courteous as Evan was.<p>

"_Dear Miss Drill (or dare I call you Imogen?) _

_The few hours spent in your company have been so pleasurable for me, that it would be a sacrilege not to try and have a repeat of that experience, albeit in less dramatic circumstances. As such, please accept my invitation to dinner in a quiet bistro in the nearby village. I will come to collect you tomorrow, at around eight. _

_Yours, _

_Evan M.__"_

"Oh, Imogen, this is wonderful!" the chanting teacher said behind her shoulder.

"May I ask what the cause of all this excitement is?" a second figure clad in black, much straighter than Davina entered the room and, with an authoritarian air, demanded to know the cause of the ruckus the chanting teacher made.

"Mr Mallard invited our Imogen for a date!" Davina exclaimed before the gym mistress could do anything to stop her.

"Did he? And I suppose, Miss Drill, that you accepted?" the deputy asked with a hint of mockery and bitterness, her thin eyebrows rising involuntary as she walked to the table where the tea pot was placed.

"What if I did?" Imogen asked more sharply than intended

"I was under the impression that you were already involved in a relationship" she said in the same mocking tone, pouring herself a cup of tea.

"Yes, but going out with Evan for dinner doesn't automatically mean that I am betraying Serge" the gym mistress declared defensively.

In all truthfulness, ever since she had received the note Imogen had been somewhat troubled by accepting Evan's invitation. Like all long-distance relationships, her involvement with Serge was a complicated one and, during the recent holiday, it had only been resumed to a physical connection rather than a deep spiritual one. Serge was a nice simple guy, whose only fault was that he lacked the refinement of her new acquaintance. Frankly, being with him was like being with a male version of herself. They always had the same conversation topics, they always went to the same places and they always shared the same opinion on almost everything. While this was somewhat pleasurable, ever since she had been confronted with the sophistication and smoothness of Mr Mallard, she had craved for something more. No one would have ever pegged the gym mistress as a romantic, but she did wish for romance in her life and she thought that pursuing a liaison with the gentleman had the potential of becoming a love story like the ones that could only be found in books.

"Doesn't it? You are, after all, planning to go with another man for dinner and not tell your current partner. That does seem a bit off, if you ask me." Constance unknowingly interrupted her colleague's musings, taking a sip from her black cup.

"And who asked you, Miss Hardbroom? With all due respect, but everyone knows of your intense dislike for the male species, so I would rather not take dating advice from a cold, frigid spinster." Imogen answered defensively and put a hand to her mouth upon realizing what she had just said.

The stoic woman refrained from replying, her face turning into a blank mask of indifference. With no further words she put the tea cup in its assigned place, vanished the liquid with a flick of her hand, turned on her heels and exited the staff room quietly. If she were to look behind, she would have seen a mortified Imogen with a hand on her forehead and a remorseful look in her eyes, and Davina deciding that all the excitement was too much for her and locking herself in her cupboard.

As the past few days had been some of the most productive in his life, Evan decided to reward himself with a fourteen year old virgin. With the vanity of a man that had always been first in whatever he decided to do, he liked his women pure and untouched. He liked them to be innocent, unknowing and even afraid, he enjoyed being their teacher and, most of all, he adored making them feel both pleasure and pain at the same time. Like all men too rich and too bored for their own good, he knew where all the best brothels were, especially those that traded young pure women like cattle. Also, with a certain amount of arrogance befitting his station, he genuinely believed that buying women and using them to satisfy his carnal desires was perfectly normal.

As waited, stark naked, for his order to come, he felt the familiar feeling of anticipation mingled with a new surge of satisfaction at his recent achievements. He truly deserved his prize. Whoever said that money makes the world go round, was right, for, after some well-placed bribes and some pulled strings, he had found out all that there was to know about Cackle's potion mistress. Constance Hardbroom was nothing if not a fascinating person with an out of the ordinary life. After looking into the woman's past, he had a better grasp of who she truly was and why she displayed the cold façade he had been confronted with. He was feeling like he could understand her better and because of that he had a clear idea of what he had to do next. He knew that, because of certain events in her background, the woman would find it hard to trust him and he feared that he neither had the time nor the resources to make that happen soon enough. Also, he had a better and much simpler idea of how to get to her and achieve his goal. Fortunately enough, despite appearances, his visit at Cackle's had been a very fruitful one for one simple reason: the infatuation of the gym mistress. He had to admit to himself that he hadn't expected the woman to accept his invitation to dinner so soon and was prepared to chase her longer than that. The fact that she did, and that she clearly felt some sort of attachment to him only served as a huge incitement for Evan's plans. If he played his cards right Hope wouldn't know what hit her.

A young girl, a mere child, entered the room and Evan looked at her with hungry lustful eyes. Although he was a bit too young for his taste, she had curves in all the right places and a long blond hair falling on her tanned shoulders. Something wasn't exactly right. She was indeed very beautiful, especially with her blue eyes widened slightly in fear, but she didn't inspire any other feelings above mere lust. In order for his night to truly be enjoyable and for him to get his well-deserved prize, he had to alter her appearance a bit.

"Turn around" he asked calmly and muttered a soft spell under his breath. The girl's blond hair was immediately turned to jet black and her tanned skin was converted into pearly white. Now she was perfect. Now she looked just like her.

After the confrontation with Imogen, the potion mistresses pondered appearing to her room and try to marginally calm herself there, and possibly lie down for a bit as she did feel a bit faint. Yet, remembering that she had a full stack of fourth year essays on the benefits of bindweed in transformation potions to grade, Constance decided to do what she always did: bury herself in her work. After all, Miss Drill's impertinence wasn't something worth disrupting her usual schedule for, was it? The gym mistress did not say anything that she hadn't heard before. She knew what kind of image she projected, and in all truthfulness the woman had been quite accurate in her assessment. If she were to think about it with the dry logic of the intellectual she was, she could understand why she had been called both spinster and frigid, as the only man she allowed to come even remotely close to her was the school's handy man, Mr Blossom. And no one could ever accuse the deputy of being too familiar with him either.

Nothing. That was what Miss Hardbroom thought she would feel at her colleague's words but instead she felt everything. For years she had believed herself immune to the opinions of the students and other staff members, but the sharp, cutting pain that she felt when Imogen depicted her in those less than flattering terms proved otherwise. Pain, anger, sadness, frustration, need for closeness, every single sensation that she had locked into a lone black box in her mind came exploding out with a vengeance, and she could feel her cheeks redden and tears stinging in her eyes, threatening to fall. She panted loudly, her legs shaking like willow twigs and clutched the dark material above her heart as a shot of pain ran through her chest. Like it had happened before, blood came out in waves from her mouth and she could feel the metallic taste lingering at the back of her throat. Her legs gave out and she fell to her knees on the cold stone floor. She retched and spluttered and tried to catch her breath, to no avail, while an invisible hand was constricting her neck and setting her lungs on fire. She had neither the energy nor the power to conjure a container, so she allowed her own blood to smear the floor and pool at her knees, staining the impeccable black dress.

Imogen opened the oak door of the potions lab to see a gruesome, ghastly spectacle. She had went after Constance to try and make amends for what she had said, hoping that her moment of bravery would not result in a lifetime of being a frog. But as she opened the door and saw the fallen woman kneeling in a puddle of her own blood, unable to breathe, all trace of fear disappeared from her mind and was replaced with unbelievable concern and remorse. As she quickly came next to the deputy she wondered if she should touch her shoulder and let her know that she was there. Although she could probably sense her,Constance didn't speak. Her body jolted violently, her hands reflexively grasped the material of her dress, and her blood splashed against the stone of the floor with an ungainly sound. Miss Drill stood in shock, next to her, not knowing what to do of how to react, and not even noticing that Miss Bat had also entered the room to make sure that the argument between Constance and Imogen did not escalate to something irreversible.

"Constance!" the chanting teacher's panicked shrill broke the silence that had fallen on the room and the deputy turned to face the two staff members that were staring at her in awe.

"I … I… can't…." Constance whizzed, her eyes widened with fear while trying to take short, sharp breaths and finding that her efforts were completely useless.

"Davina! Call a doctor! Fast!" the gym mistress said sharply, snapping out of her reverie and, putting what she hoped to be a comforting hand on her colleague's back. In response to the touch, Constance's body went painfully rigid.

* * *

><p>The room was small and cramped and Hope was frustrated that the inn keeper seemed resolved to think that Noah and she were an item. Wales proved to be even soggier, cloudier and more depressing than she had imagined and the room, which apparently was the honeymoon suite in the small inn, was in no better condition than the weather outside. The wallpaper had a dubious pinkish colour, the bed sheets, although clean, seemed overused and there was only one small wardrobe available, which could be easily filled to the brim only by the high number of shoes that she had brought. Fighting the urge to bang her head against the wall because she had only unpacked half her clothes and filled the entire wardrobe, Hope took a moment to look at the miserable surroundings of the inn. Almost hidden by the rain and mist, at the top of the mountain<p>

"What in the Lord's name are you going to do with stilettos here?" Noah said looking for something in his black suitcase and noticing the woman holding a pair of really high healed shoes.

"Hey! No hate towards the shoes!" she said with mock-seriousness. "You said that we were going on an infiltration, James Bond-like mission. Stilettos are a must for that!" she took the red D&G shoes and tried to squeeze them in the remaining space, on the bottom shelf, between the green flats and the black boots. Being thoroughly unsuccessful, with a sigh she leaned against the pink covers of the bed, unceremoniously throwing the problematic shoes in the far end of the room. Noah's lips formed a smile while he was busy installing some sort of black contraption, looking like a cross between an ordinary radio and a really old phone.

"What the hell is that?" Hope asked turning her head to get a better look at the object her friend was preoccupied with.

"This, my darling, is a magical signal tracker. I bought it a while ago on the black market, but never had a chance to use it" he said proudly "It basically catches radio signals in the area and transfers them to us. I want to set it to intercept any calls that come from the school. Hence the receiver. The beauty of this thing is that it not only receives radio signals and waves, but also has an increased sensitivity and can even intercept and redirect calls from landlines" he further explained, looking at the machine the same way a child looks at a new toy, and the girl nodded knowingly, even if she didn't really understand why they needed such a machine. Maybe Noah was taking the spy thing too far and, in his fervour to help, was over-thinking and over-complicating things.

"Isn't it a bit too much, though? I mean, are we even sure that they have a phone up there?" she said meekly, trying to mildly temper his excitement. She could understand his involuntary happiness at being away from Elwood Manor for the first time in almost ten years, but she could not let him transform everything in child's play. Having one childish, potentially homicidal, maniac to deal with was enough for her.

"They do have a phone. Last year, in January, the Guild issued an amendment in the Witch's Education Code stating that every educational establishment, regardless of the convent, needs to have a non-magical communication device installed in order to function. "he smiled proudly and Hope could not help but feel impressed, like every time her friend sprouted out some random fact about some random subject. It was beyond her how Noah managed to both find out and remember so many utterly arbitrary things, but she suspected it had to do with spending his life in the company of books and secluded from the real world.

"So, even if they have a phone, how is that supposed to help us?" she continued, still sceptical. Quite frankly, she saw nothing wrong with going into the school, kidnap the person in question and make a run for it out of rainy Wales and to an exotic warm location.

"Well, you told me that something was making her sick. So, I drew the logical conclusion that, unless the people in the school hate this person so much that they want her to die, they will, at some point, call for a doctor… "he said animatedly, quite proud of his plan but soon found out that his friend wasn't sharing his excitement.

"Noah, love… with all due respect, but are you bloody insane?" Hope looked at him as if he had just declared himself Grand Wizard. She understood what he wanted to do and she was afraid that his selfish zeal to regain some of his old life back would not only hurt himself but also others, her included.

"Not that I am aware of… why?" his voice had suddenly lost its vivacity and became strangely monotone.

"You can't go to the school and pose as a doctor…" she replied carefully, desperately trying not to offend him. She really comprehended his reasons, but as much as she cared for him, she couldn't allow unnecessary risks to be taken.

"I'm not posing as one… I am one, remember?" he answered with derision, suddenly feeling like his identity was challenged.

"And how many patients did you treat in the last year?" her voice was harsher than intended and Noah's subsequent silence told her that she had hurt her friend. "Exactly! I rest my case."

She finished in the same way a duellist gives the coup de grace and hoped that her, rather weak, argument would be enough to quench his ambitions of re-becoming the person he once was.

"That doesn't make me less of a doctor, you know?" Noah said after a while looking with disappointment at the magical device that was now humming softly.

"Darling, may I point out a very important fact?" the girl asked with a hint of derision " If you kill her, you kill me. And although, I do love you, I wouldn't want to die while satisfying one of your whims!" Their conversation was interrupted by a sharp ring coming from the device and both exchanged a startled look. With trembling hands, Noah took the receiver and put it to his ear.

"Yes?" he answered with feigned calm, incapable to hide the tremor of excitement in his voice.

"Is this …" the voice at the other end was that of an older woman who, judging by the way she shouted in the receiver, certainly didn't have much practice using a phone.

"Yes it is. Doctor Elwood speaking" he felt his heart tremble with pleasure when he recommended himself as a doctor and Hope, knowing that she had lost the battle, threw herself dejectedly on the old bed.

"I am calling from Cackle's Academy, the school up the hill. One of our teachers collapsed and I think she needs medical attention" despite the better efforts of the voice to appear calm, panic was obvious in her tone and Noah instantly knew that he had hit the proverbial jackpot.

"I understand. I will be there shortly. But first, can you please tell me if this happened before?" his tried to sound as professional as possible, although taking into account the distress of the person at the other end, his attitude seemed to go unnoticed.

"Yes it did. Almost three days ago, but not like this…" the woman seemed increasingly panicking "Then she just fainted… now she is coughing up blood…."

"I understand. I will be there as soon as possible" he tried to sound as calm as possible while his mind was already running various potential diagnosis related to haemoptysis. He could feel the surge of adrenalin coursing through his system, as his brain already started to try to solve the so-very-familiar puzzle. With a satisfied smile, he placed the make-shift phone receiver down and automatically reached for his old doctor's bag.

"Do you have any idea why she is coughing up her lungs?" he asked his current roommate, while he checked that he had the bare necessities to perform a consult. While he hadn't been active in the field for almost ten years, his mother's condition taught him caution, and as such he aimed to have at least the basics with him, everywhere he went.

"No idea. You are the doctor…" she said with the bitter tone of a child that just lost a game, and pouted at upon seeing his triumphant smirk. Knowing that he had everything he needed, he turned with a nod towards her and almost exited the room when she suddenly jumped from the bed and ran to where he was standing.

"Please, don't screw up…" Hope said softly and placed a delicate kiss on his cheek as he closed the door behind him.

* * *

><p>Amelia met doctor Elwood in front of Walker's Gate where he had parked his red Mini Cooper, and was surprised at how un-doctor-like he looked. While no one in his right mind could pretend that the headmistress of Cackle's had much of a contact with the outside world, or hospitals and doctors for that matter, she did instinctively know that the man that stood in front of the school was no ordinary medic or healer. To her mind, people in the healthcare system always used to have a busy air about them, and the man, tall and well-built was nothing but calm and relaxed. Also, they seemed to always expect the worst, but the man's face was contorted in a genuine smile, and he had a small flicker in his green eyes as if he knew more than he let on. Over all, he looked well-groomed and had a pleasant, easy confidence and his cool, demeanour seemed to automatically rub on the headmistress as well, despite the most dire circumstances she found herself into.<p>

"Hello, I am Doctor Elwood. Noah Elwood" he said pleasantly, and shook the woman's hand with a certain amount of confidence.

"Amelia Cackle, the headmistress of the school" she replied with a sense of urgency, shaking his warm hand.

"Amelia, she can't breathe!" another woman dashed from inside the building and he recognized her as the voice he had heard through the telephone.

Noah quickly followed the older women inside and after climbing some shaky, old stairs he reached a rather damp corridor with five oak doors. The same pleasant surge of adrenalin was coursing through his veins and he realized, with satisfaction, how easily he slipped into the role of a doctor. The woman led him to the second door on the left and they both entered the small bedroom that contained the meagre worldly possessions of the deputy, and the man had the distinct impression that it looked much like a prison cell. An inhabited prison cell.

"This is doctor Elwood, Constance. He came to take a look at you…" the headmistress said gently, as if she was explaining something to a child.

"This… not… ne-ne-cessary…" the voice from the bed replied between desperate attempts to breathe.

"May I be the judge of that?" the soft baritone reverberated in the almost bare room and the black-haired woman looked up to see the gentle features of the doctor. He reminded her of someone, but her mind was too woozy to pinpoint of whom.

Noah's hand trembled slightly as he reached for the stethoscope and realized he hadn't used one in ten years. For a moment he felt a sense of apprehension grip his heart and wondered if what Hope had said was true. What if he misinterpreted something? Or what if he misdiagnosed something? Or what if he prescribed some medicine that was inappropriate? The possibilities to do more harm than good were endless, and the consequences of him doing something wrong were dire. If he, literary screwed up, not only would he harm an innocent woman that trusted him, but he could also, in the worst case scenario, kill his best friend. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he finally turned to face his first patient in almost ten years. His breath involuntarily hitched. The way in which she looked, with her dishevelled dark hair, piercing eyes and pale skin contrasting to her black dress and red lips reminded him of an opera he had seen during his years as a college student: La Traviata, the fallen woman. He had seen that stage production more than twenty times only because his, then-hormonal, mind had fixated itself on the main character, Violetta. And now, this woman who stood prostate on the silk sheets and looked as if she was fighting for every breath she took, appeared to be an incarnation of the fantasy of his youth.

"Do I have your permission?" he whispered softly, still amazed of how unnerving the similarity between that fictional character and the real woman in front of him was. Ironically enough, at the end of the opera, Violetta's body was succumbing to consumption so her condition was very similar to the one the woman on the bed was displaying. Noticing the faint nod, he went next to her and with dexterity he undid the buttons of her dress, revealing a cream chest and a black bra with flower patterns.

As his hands gently opened the top of her dress, Constance felt her muscles involuntarily tighten. He was the first man in almost twenty years that had touched her and she felt exposed, almost naked. Wordlessly he put the cold stethoscope on her skin and listened to the faint beats of her heart. He then took her wrist carefully, the same way one handles an already broken porcelain doll, and measured her radial pulse. Afterwards, he wrapped a cuff with an inflatable rubber bag inside, over her brachial artery inside the arm, at the elbow, put his stethoscope over the pulse point and pumped enough air pressure into the cuff to close the artery. Opening the thumb valve he released the air pressure and when the pressure in the cuff was equal with the pressure on the artery, he started to listen to the fait sound of her pulse. In his left hand he held the manometer connected by tubing to the cuff and was able to read her blood pressure. As the cuff deflated slowly and the sound became too faint to hear, Noah smiled in satisfaction. Although it was incredibly basic what he had done, the fact that he had actually touched a patient that wasn't his mother meant the world to him. Plus, as a further indication of his skill, even if he could not be entirely certain, he did have a pretty good idea of what was wrong with her.

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><p><strong>A<strong>**uthor's note:**

Yet again we have reached the end of another (hopefully interesting) chapter. Any comments, questions, thoughts, angry words that you might have, can be sent through your reviews and I will reply to them promptly. I also apologize if, for the last chapter, I didn't reply to all of you. As I said before, I unfortunately had little time for fanfiction duties during the past week. I promise it will never happen again.

Here comes a little sneak preview from chapter 5:

Noah and Constance get to know each other better. Imogen and Evan go on a date and Mildred tries to make sense of her newly found talent. And Hope tries her hardest not to strangle her best friend.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **

Dear reader,

Once again thanks for doing me the honour of returning to this fiction. For those that send me their questions through their reviews, what can I say? Every single one of the lines that you write in those reviews is greatly appreciated. I have no words to express my gratitude towards **Chrissiemusa, chocomoon, Aleksandra Hardbroom**, **HB rules** and **Princess Sammi** (whose wonderful collection of Worst Witch fanfictions is a must!). Yet again I need to commend **NextChristineDaae **on her sheer awesomeness. I think I speak for all those that have read _Appearances Can Be Deceptive _(again, if you didn't read it thus far, you must do so immediately) when I say that we are waiting for the next chapter of this most amazing story with baited breath.

Before you start reading this chapter, you should be aware that I am not a doctor, or have been trained in the medical field in any way, and that you should take all the medical things that are present henceforth with a pinch of salt. I did do my best to research Constance's condition, but in due course it will be explained magically rather than medically. If I do make some glaring mistakes and you become aware of them please do feel free to point them out and I will do my best to correct them.

Yours faithfully,

Lemondrop

* * *

><p><strong>FIRE AND ICE <strong>

**BOOK I: THE WIELDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR**

**Chapter 5****: ****Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live** _(Norman Cousins)_

She had never been healthy. Ever since she had been a child her life had been a vicious cycle of hospitalization, releases and hospitalizations again. It was a bright autumn day, in the beginning of her second year in middle school when it first happened. Back then, her classmates had come every single day to visit her and when she was released they came to her house to play. Like every child her age, despite that it always left her breathless and sick, she enjoyed playing hide and seek, tag and musical chairs. She wanted and needed the contact with the outside world. Yet, that only happened the first time. After her second and third hospital visits, their life went on and she was left behind. Before she even knew it, even those she had called friends had only become mere acquaintances and after that, strangers. It seemed that to them the reality of her disease was an unpleasant fact, and, refusing to acknowledge it, they had erased the scrawny, blond haired girl from their collective memories.

She had met him five months before, when he had been admitted for a cough and was promptly told, in a roundabout fashion, that he was going to die. He then had been transferred to the hospital's hospice that had been her house and prison for almost two springs. It was with increasing interest that she had watched the boy, the only one in that sterile, cold place that was close to her age, and every day she wanted and hoped that he would notice her as well. Yet, he kept looking at life and at himself with of the unusual detachment of those that are aware that their life is coming to an end and refuse to fully accept it. As if it was happening to someone else. As if he was watching one of those sob-stories on TV. Maybe it was because he was in complete and utter denial or maybe it was because of their surprisingly similar conditions that one day she decided to talk to him. They had been inseparable ever since.

When the ending was to come they wanted to face it in the same way they have lived for the past five months which had seemed like five long years: together. Nevertheless even this small kindness seemed too much for fate to offer. Despite being progressively sicker for years, her body was strong. Her body wanted to live and desperately clung to every ounce of power she possessed. Thus, she watched helplessly as her best friend, her companion, and her last link to sanity took his final ragged breaths. She knew what she had to do. With the same unknowing diligence with which he had managed to pull her out of her misery and monotony, she would accompany him on his last journey. It was a matter of duty. She could not let him face death alone.

When she saw the woman walk in, she instinctively knew that both her time and his had drawn to a close. As a person's body is failing all their five senses are also spiralling downwards, hearing being the last one to go. At least this is the scientific version. What most books about palliative care don't tell is that, while the traditional senses disappear almost completely as the body reaches its final stages, they are replaced by others that transgress the boundaries of consciousness and rational thought. Some sceptic scientists may argue that dying people are more perceptive because their awareness of their non-exiting future or of those they leave behind is increased, while others might say that those who are fading are, as a result of their despair, borderline delusional. Both opinions would be terribly wrong. The main reason that those close to death have what has often been called a sixth sense is ridiculously simple: belief. Belief, or rather the power to unconditionally believe in something, is one of those underestimated gifts that had been given to mankind by a superior power and that is often lost in the search for knowledge. Like children, those who are ready to depart from the physical realm are ready to cling to every trace of evidence that their life is more than it seems. They desperately, and understandably, need to believe that the end of existence is anything but a cold carcass eaten by worms, an uninviting wooden box and mountains of earth on top of their unfeeling corpse .

"Please, don't...Not yet…" she asked tentatively, looking at how serenely the woman walked to the sick bed of her friend.

Hope turned her eyes to look upon the young teenager and sighed softly. She wondered what her true punishment was: the fact that she had to take all those souls or the fact that she had to confront all those that they left behind. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. The five stages of grief and also the five stages of dyeing. She had met individuals that were going through every single one of them and was marvelled, for a second, at how intact her sanity remained. If she had to pick one that she hated most it had to be "Acceptance". Although Bargaining was a close second, as people seemed to do almost anything to delay death, the final stage was for her the hardest to deal with. When the person in question comes to terms with his own mortality or that of a loved one he loses the optimism that had kept him alive. He looses that flicker in his eyes that told the world he was still fighting. It torn Hope's very soul to see those blank, lifeless, defeated stares and made her mission so much more difficult. In the present case, despite the girl's half-hearted attempt at pleading with her, the woman, by the look in her eyes, knew that she had reached the final stage. The stage where the psychological battle was over and the body was submissive to everything and anything.

"You are in no better condition than him and yet you beg for him but not for yourself? Why?" she said softly, hoping against all hope that she will somehow make the girl's eyes sparkle again. That she will be able to see some sort of defiance.

"He… I… I don't know…" she stuttered sincerely not knowing what to answer. While she had had years to get accustomed to the fact that she was going to die, the reality of his mortality had come almost too suddenly. Of course, she wasn't a fool, she knew that he was too sick to remain alive, just that her brain didn't, couldn't rationally process it, up to that very moment.

"I'm sorry… I cannot help you…" Hope replied sincerely, knowing that there was little she could do to prevent the events that were to come.

"It's alright. I tried" the girl answered mechanically, in the same way that one answers a monotone, day to day request.

It was ridiculously easy to obtain morphine in a place where death reigned supreme so the girl wasn't too concerned about the negative answer she received. Firstly, she did not expect to even be able to talk to Death itself, or what she supposed that it was at least one of Death's minions. Secondly, even if she had indeed managed to convince the woman in front of her to not take his soul away, she would have only bought time. Precious time, but only insignificant time, as the reality of their joint conditions would still have remained the same. As she took out the already prepared morphine syringe she couldn't help but think that maybe it was better this way. At least she got to die painlessly, on her own terms, which could not be said about the boy in the bed next to her.

"Don't…" Hope whispered softly. The young woman looked her in the eye and raised a curious eyebrow. "If you do it, you will sully your soul beyond repair."

"It doesn't matter. I am not leaving him alone. I promised that we will make this journey together" she replied with determination Hope had been looking for, and the woman smiled at the bitter irony. She had wanted to make the girl determined to live, not to die.

"What makes you think that there is something beyond?" Hope asked with a hint of derision in her voice. Maybe, just maybe, if she kept the conversation going long enough, she would manage to rekindle some of that flame, that spark of life.

"It's just what I believe" the teenager said it as if it was the absolute truth, which for her, and her alone it was.

"What if you are wrong?" belief was something strong to counteract and sometimes while belief in another world increased awareness in terminal patients, it also stifled their will to live. Why bother to live in a realm where you are in pain, when your soul could go somewhere where it is free of all physical constraints?

"Then at least I put an end to the pain and I got the luxury of having a choice." She rationalized and Hope could see some merit in what she said.

"A choice?" the woman asked genuinely curious

"Yes. The choice to die when I want to, not when my body decides to" the same determination and detachment were written on her face and Hope was inclined to believe the righteousness of her actions. If she had been in a similar situation she would have done the same.

"You know, I can see how much you have left. What if I told you that you still had a long time ahead?" her voice had lost its mocking tone and now she was talking in all seriousness, seeing the red, flame-like numbers forming above the teenager's head.

"I wouldn't care. I made a promise and I intend to keep it" she simply replied stoking the morphine needle gently with pale, long fingers.

"You would give up all that you have for him? Why?" she asked in sheer surprise, knowing exactly how much she would give up. It was, in her opinion, a lot.

"Because he made me live again. There is no point of existing when I am not alive" she fumbled about with the object that was to bring her death and wondered for a second if what the woman had said was true. If she took her own life voluntarily, would she endanger the immortality of her soul? Would that mean that she would never get to see her friend again, wherever she was going? Would it mean that she would leave him alone?

Guessing her fears, Hope smiled and took the morphine syringe from her hands. As if she could understand what the woman wanted to do, the girl did not oppose her and merely dragged her chair closer to his bed. Putting a warm hand in his cold one, and extending the other arm in front of the brunette, she closed her eyes waiting for the lethal dose. A look of peacefulness and happiness graced her features and despite the enormity of what she was doing, Hope felt somewhat satisfied when she pushed the needle in the pale flesh. The fluid drained slowly from it and she watched it intently. Despite all that she had done in the past, it was the first time she had truly killed, and even if she knew that she had done both of them a great kindness, she couldn't help but feel a growing emptiness enter her body, invade her soul and crush her organs. She took a deep breath and placed her cold hands on both their foreheads, giving them eternal release. As she took two souls instead of one, for the first time in her life Hope cried. She cried for all that was lost. She cried for all that was coming. But most of all she, she cried for all that she was supposed to do.

* * *

><p>From the corner of the grand ball room she could see the couple spinning gracefully on the dance floor as Strauss' Blue Danube played in the background. The man, tall with a head of dark coarse hair that fell with elegance in his eyes, held the blond woman's hand delicately. The woman whose golden locks were pulled together in a somewhat messy bun, smiled happily at her partner holding her slight frame with a certain degree of dignity. Constance watched he parents dance like she had done so many times before when she was a child and could feel her throat tighten with unshed tears. They were so very beautiful together, their couple being the perfect symbiosis of female daintiness and male vigour. They were also so very happy. In both their eyes a secret gleam seemed to shine, like they knew each other's deepest secrets while their bodies appeared to have the comfort that is only apparent in couples who know each other incredibly well. She closed her eyes for a second, trying to lock that blissfully happy moment in her mind when she suddenly disappeared.<p>

Seconds later, she was the one spinning on the dance floor and the tempo of the music had been replaced with Ravel's La valse, un poème choré was Constance's turn to be dressed in a white dress, which it immediately dawned on her that was a wedding dress, with her black hair loose from the confines of its usual bun. As they were both moving with the music, with almost practiced steps, her father's eyes met hers and she could see nothing but joy in them. As she was moving in tune with the bittersweet sound of the waltz, she felt the silk of the wedding dress caress her legs, and the veil on her head touch her white shoulders gently. For a moment she remembered a time when all this was real and she was dressed in a very similar wedding dress. She remembered her father throwing her the same proud smile and she replying to it wholeheartedly. She recalled that back then she was truly happy and her heart involuntarily skipped a beat at thinking about all that she had lost.

Her father's featured were changed slightly to reveal a face that had become so familiar to her, while the classical music was replaced with a much more modern piece: Edith Piaf's L'Accordéoniste. The man smiled at her, a dazzling white smile that she had seen every day for the past week and she could feel a sensation on warmth in her stomach, together with natural uneasiness. As if sensing her fears, Noah held her hand tightly, as if to tell her he would never let go and placed an even firmer hand on her exposed back. His green eyes sparkled in delight when watching the woman in front of him and she felt her mouth open up in a most genuine smile. His smell, so manly and so comforting, his strong arms encircling her, his jade eyes looking upon her frame as if she was the most precious jewel in the world, they all made her feel protected. They made her feel completely safe. She still had his blissfully happy face engraved in her mind when she woke up.

* * *

><p>Millie looked mystified at the way in which the cold rain was falling in the courtyard of Overblow castle, making the adjacent buildings look like ghosts in the slight, pale shine of the moon. Her room went suddenly dark and the student could feel her breath hitch and hands shake. From one of the corners a flicker of white light shone faintly and Millie ran towards it with all her might. As she was running, the light seemed to go further and further away and a sense of desperation bubbled in the girl's soul. What if she could never reach it? Feeling tired she allowed herself to fall into a crumpled mess on the stone floor when she felt an ice cold hand grab her wrist. Instinctively looking up, the student discerned obscurely the face of a young girl, about three or four years old, dressed in a tattered wedding dress too big for her. Terror beyond belief invaded her heart and had she been able to find her voice she would have screamed.<p>

"Let me in!" the sound of the creatures' voice was mournful and had a metallic quality to it which did nothing to settle Mildred's nerves. She desperately tried to draw her arm from the fierce grip but it seemed useless.

"Who… are …you?" the teenager stuttered as she looked into the dead hazel eyes of the apparition and tried to close her ears to its lamentable plea.

"Let me in! I have been gone for so long! I have lost my way but now I came back home…" the thing maintained its tenacious gripe and Mildred felt her nails dug into the hand of the figure.

"Who are you?" fear made her cruel and she desperately tied to hurt the child while pulling her arm from the cold grip. She could feel, at the tip of her fingers that she had drawn blood.

"Let me in!" the girl seemed above pain and continued whining in a most pitiful fashion. Had she not been mad with fear, the student would have empathised with the child. She closed her eyes and felt hot tears fall on her cheeks trying to make the spirit and its doleful cry disappear. It was useless.

"Okay" she said softly hoping that the figure would finally dispel and that she would find herself in her hard bed at Cackle's. With a satisfied smile, the child's eyes gleamed maliciously.

* * *

><p>Constance felt too tired to move. Every single breath she took seemed to be too much for her weakened frame and she could say, with all confidence, that she hated it. Despite her own frailty, when she heard the sharp scream pierce through the empty corridors she managed to pull herself together and, leaning on the wall for support, she promptly reached the source of the scream. Students were already crowding Mildred Hubble's room and Constance could not help but sigh softly. What had the girl gotten herself into, this time? It was beyond her how someone could get into so much trouble and, most of the time, not be aware of it. As she made her way trough the small crowd and into the room she could see the girl was twisting and turning, screaming until her throat was raw while her two best friends, Enid and Maud tried, to no avail, to wake her up.<p>

"Back to bed, girls!" she said with some semblance of authority moving towards her distressed pupil.

Despite the clear instruction, both Enid and Maud refused to leave their friend's side until they were sure she was fine. They both knew that Mildred had a vivid imagination and that it sometimes caused some very powerful nightmares, but in the three years they had known their fellow student, she had never had such a reaction. Beads of sweat were quickly forming on her forehead and her breath was coming in shallow gasps as she was screaming. If they didn't know better, they would have said that she was in pain. Miss Hardbroom also came next to the bed and gracefully sat on its side, mostly because she didn't feel like her legs could carry her any longer but also because, in that position, she would have an easier access to the student.

"Constance, what are you doing? You are supposed to be in bed!" an elder voice was hard in the doorway and the plum form of the headmistress, in her nightclothes and with hair sticking out at odd angles quite comically, appeared in view trying to make her fuzzy brain take in all that was happening.

"Spare me the diatribe, Amelia. This girl needs help…" Constance answered sharply and placed a hand on her student's shoulder, gently shaking it while the headmistress realized, with a sigh, that it would take an army of fully armed mercenaries to keep Constance away from her students, especially when one needed her attention.

As if on cue, as soon as the deputy's hand touched her shoulder, Mildred's eyes snapped open to reveal her brilliant blue irises. A look of confusion passed on her features as she looked around for a second, her mind trying to take everything in. She could see her friends throwing her worried looks from the far end of the room, she noticed the headmistress rubbing the sleep from her eyes and trying to understand what was happening and she could see the graceful, swan-like figure that sat next to her on the bed with a concerned stare in her hazel eyes. Upon seeing her form mistress, her eyes involuntarily filled with tears of longing. She had no logical explanation for the tears, she did not understand her urge to be close to her teacher, and she could not control what she did next. In a swift movement that surprised all those that were in the room, she lifted her upper body and enveloped Miss Hardbroom in a tight hug. The woman stiffened at the touch, not knowing what to do with her arms and how to respond to such a tender gesture. She had had years of experience dealing with children that had nightmares but no one before has seemed as terrified as Mildred. Also, none of them had ever hugged her. Actually, as far as she could remember no one had dared to embrace her for almost twenty years. Despite herself and feeling the wave of desperation coming from her student, she gently placed her arms around the shaking shoulders, tracing comforting circles on her student's back with her left hand.

"I am home" Mildred whispered softly holding onto Miss Hardbroom for dear life, her tears falling on the impeccable purple satin of the woman's pyjamas.

* * *

><p>In a society where everyone is assigned a label according to their ability to think properly, and where the bias of personal and cultural values influences the perception on normality, it is more than challenging to define what can be regarded as "normal" or "abnormal". As the society, by its own diverse character, encourages the development and the preservation of cultural differences, human beings that belong to different countries regard the parameters of normality differently. Furthermore, culture is not the only one that affects such parameters, as more personal factors like the standard of living, education, upbringing, and social environment have an effect on the actions that one perceives as "insane". Humanity is clearly divided in establishing the rules that could proclaim a person as either sane or insane, for each human being can be considered someone else's madman. Davina Bat was thus convinced that she wasn't insane and that those around her were the ones that were utterly mad.<p>

Art is probably the sole aspect of life that manages to thrive from insanity and as such, the chanting teacher considered her eccentricity as a very valuable asset in performing her art . Being free spirits and having a compulsory need to express themselves , artists have been traditionally considered "insane" for their rather different style of living. Although many of the great artists of the world, like Van Gogh and Picasso were labelled as mad only because of having different conceptions on life, they had persevered with the upmost tenacity in pursuing their artistic tendencies and only through that they had managed to become great. With the same perseverance, Davina also pursued her chanting, accepted and embraced her eccentricity and expected those around her to do so as well.

On the other hand, she was perfectly conscious that individuals are part of a society and no matter how much a human being wishes to be subject to their own moral values when being regarded as either sane or insane, that is hardly possible. Someone that inflicts pain on others or hurts himself deliberately can not be considered normal by the society for he is not only a threat to himself but to the others surrounding him. In this respect, Davina thought that the main person that labelled her as mad almost on a daily basis, Constance Hardbroom was possibly more deranged than she was. She of course knew that the deputy would never hurt anyone on purpose, but she also was aware that the woman had a self-destructive streak to her character. Even now, when she was clearly sick and needed all the help she could get, the deputy retreated into her shell as if she wanted to be alone. Although she had never pegged the woman as suicidal, Davina wondered if she truly wanted to die and if she did, she could not help but wonder why. As if she was fed up with her very own existence, the fierce potion mistress looked upon herself and her predicament with little interest and that made all her colleagues, not only the chanting teacher, more than worried. It seemed that, like Miss Bad herself, Miss Hardbroom had a hard time understanding that life is in fact a succession of interactions and individuals are designed to live in a community with others. And with this consciousness and with the upmost resilience in their respective odd behaviours, both women carried on every day, regardless of the looks they were given by others.

It was with these thoughts, and after a particular harsh exchange with Imogen about the benefits of extra Mongolian chanting lessons for the first year girls that Miss Bat entered Cosy's. There was only one other occupant in Cosy's Tea Room and that was, in Davina's opinion, a very posh young lady. She stood at one of the far end tables, dressed in a short blue skirt showing well-toned legs, a white silk shirt that was falling delicately on her moderate curves and knee-high black boots with an impossible high heel, all items showing a certain amount of wealth. She wore what the chanting teacher supposed that nowadays passed for modern accessories and she could not help but think that the girl looked like one of the models she had seen in some of Imogen's glossy magazines. Despite being very attractive, her beauty wasn't the most striking thing about the young woman. It was the look of boredom in her face, as she played with one of her perfect dark curls that attracted Davina's attention. That and the fact that the woman was obviously a stranger in the small village near the school. Her first impulse was to think that maybe she was one of Mr Mallard's acquaintances, as the man was the only one that had visited those parts who had the same noble stance and somewhat royal air. As if only becoming aware of the new addition to the restaurant, the girl raised her head from the cup of coffee she had been nursing and offered a polite nod towards the older woman.

"Good day!" Davina said in an enthusiastic high-pitched voice, taking the woman's feeble salute as an invitation. "The cream buns here are delicious, aren't they?"

"I wouldn't know. I am not that fond of sweets" she answered politely, a slight hint of amusement obvious in her low tone at the randomness of the subject her interlocutor had chosen.

"Oh! You should definitely try one!" she said animatedly, with an exaggerated nod of her head. "Davina Bat" the woman extended her hand with a cheerful smile.

"Nice to meet you! I am Hope Hawthorne." The girl shook her hand with the same slightly mocking smile, gesturing Davina to take a seat on the chair opposite to her.

"Hope. Such a beautiful name!" the woman took the offered seat with a sparkle in her grey eyes, much like a child that had been told Christmas would come early.

"What would you like today, Miss Bat?" the owner of the café said warmly and Hope looked up to see Mrs Cosy's friendly face.

"Sweet tea and a cream bun" the teacher replied still happy that she had made a new, and in her opinion, very interesting acquaintance.

"And you dear? Would you like another cup of coffee?" Mrs Cosy was secretly pleased that her new faithful guest was in the company of such a colourful character like the teacher. For the past week, the girl had come to her café, alone with a thick book in tow and spent hours and hours reading while sipping cups and cups of bitter dark coffee. It was only because she respected the privacy of her customers and also because the girl looked like a very private person, that the owner did not dare to ask her why she was always alone.

"Actually, as Miss Bat speaks so highly of them, I would like one of those cream buns as well" she said evenly, noticing the surge of colour rising in the woman's cheeks, possibly because of the pleasure she felt at being taken seriously for once.

"So what brings you here Miss Hawthorne?" the chanting teacher asked eagerly.

"Please call me Hope. I am supposed to do an apprenticeship here, at the school, but there has been some difficulty with the paperwork" she repeated Noah's rehearsed answer perfectly and the teacher's eyes widened more than humanly possible.

"Oh! I am a teacher there!" she squeaked while Mrs Cosy placed the cup in front of her and a plate with the sweet pastry in the middle of the table.

"Really? How lucky am I to meet an experienced member of the staff before I start my examination" she replied warmly and Miss Bat's cheeks flushed again with colour at being recognised as a veteran member of the staff.

"And what subject are you doing your apprenticeship in?" she inquired, oblivious to the subtle and foreign surge of magic that was now coursing through her body.

"Potions" Hope answered pleasantly, somewhat dissatisfied that her experiment had failed and that the woman standing in front of her wasn't who she was looking for.

"You might have some difficulties then…" Davina said apprehensively thinking of how harsh the resident potion mistress was with all the student teachers that came to Cackle's. At the young woman's slightly raised eyebrows, she launched in a full tale of the schools previous experience with apprentices together with a description of the staff and students. In less than an hour, Hope knew that if she ever desired any information she could easily go to Davina Bat and, with so much as a gentle nudge, the woman would spill everything she knew effortlessly.

* * *

><p>Despite Noah's orders and Amelia's constant pestering nothing could keep Constance Hardbroom from her potions lab any longer. Although it would have been presumptuous of her to claim that she was fine, she felt that if she kept staying locked up in her room she would loose her mind. As such, after a week of careful monitoring and testing from her doctor, together with some pills that marginally eased her nausea and dizziness, forceful feeding on the part of the headmistress and unnecessary attentions from her other two colleagues, Miss Hardbroom descended breathlessly from the confines of her chamber and went into the potions lab only to find some of her stocks depleted. She then decided, against the feeling of tiredness that was slowly but surely creeping up on her, that she could do with a walk in the nearby woods to collect some of the herbs that were missing. Thus, with a slow step, so different from her usual quick one, and with multiple pauses to catch her breath she entered the forest and felt her lungs fill in with the blissful fresh air. Knowing that despite her better efforts her body would not cooperate any longer, the woman gracefully lowered herself on one of the roots of an older tree and allowed her back to lean on the rough surface of its bark.<p>

"How is my patient today?" Doctor Elwood's warm baritone rang behind her and she instinctively turned to see the tall man leaning next to a tree. Quite frankly ever since her latest attack, everyone seemed to not only treat her like a fragile object but also follow her everywhere. Not that she had been allowed to go to that many places anyway.

"I am fine…" she replied softly, closing her eyes and taking a deeper breath. The smell of autumn leaves and musty ground ensnared her senses and she wished for a moment that she could spend her remaining days there, in that spot, in the middle of the forest.

"I am glad to hear it" he said sincerely and she could feel him coming closer to her. Immediately she added yet another favourite scent to her list. The odour of his manly aftershave. "I have your test results"

"You do?" she asked dreamily, her eyes still closed taking in the wonder of the nature. Quite frankly she wasn't very interested in what those results said. She knew, in her very core, that no matter what the yellow envelope he was holding contained, the dénouement would still be the same. She couldn't explain how or why she knew, maybe it was her overly pessimistic character, but she was aware that there was little that medicine, science and potions combined could do for her. And while she did not have a special desire to die, she knew that it would be futile to fight it.

"Yes. I told you, I sent some of the blood samples I took from you to a colleague of mine at the London Hospital for Magical Diseases and Afflictions and asked him to run various tests on it. One of these tests is called B-type natriuretic peptide or, BPN for short and was pretty conclusive in forming a diagnosis. Because your BPN levels were greater than four hundred per millilitre and also taking into account your other symptoms, I can say with all confidence that what you have is a condition known as congestive heart failure." He used his business-like voice, still trying to explain as gently as possible what the woman had. He did not, could not, tell her that she was probably a modern medical miracle as she had managed, single handily, with no other underlying conditions and a clean bill of health otherwise, to develop stage three congestive heart failure in less than a month.

"I see" she said calmly, taking in all the information and finding it mattered little for her.

"I know it sounds bad, but you know… this is not a death sentence. The progression of the disease can be managed" he tried to sound convincing but they both knew, from different sources, that what he was saying was far from the truth.

"How?" she asked with a modicum of interest, more not to appear suicidal than anything else.

"Firstly, I need to say that it already reached stage three, which means that we need to take a slightly more drastic approach to slow down its development. I already gave you some diuretics to prevent fluid from building in your lungs and I can see that you are responding to them quite nicely. Also, I am prescribing you some Captopril, which is an ACE Inhibitor and needs to be taken three times per day, and also Bisoprolol which is a Beta Blocker, both being for your heart. We are starting on a low dose initially and then, after I have seen how you respond to treatment I will increase the dose as necessary" he started to explain, reciting what he just said from memory, much like most medical students do before an important exam. To his surprise, for someone as pedantic as Constance she seemed to show little interest in what he was prattling and wondered if she had given up. To his surprise the thought affected him more than normal. "Also, there are plenty of invasive procedures that we could try, if chemical treatment doesn't work" he followed meekly, hoping that he would give the woman something to cling herself to. A lifeline that would ignite the fire of living in her soul.

"Would you, honestly recommend surgery?" she finally opened her hazel eyes and looked into his deep green eyes that seemed somewhat troubled.

"No. In your case I wouldn't…" he had dropped the business-like voice and his tone was much softer, much more personal. As if what he had just declared was paining him on a personal level and she got the distinct impression that he knew more than he let on.

"Then we are in agreement" she answered with a knowing smile

"Everything is going to be fine" his voice shook more than normal as he looked upon the pale, flawless skin that was contrasting so very beautifully with her dark hair and red lips.

"I thought doctors weren't supposed to lie to their patients" she yet again offered a tight half smile and wanted to stand up. Gallantly, Noah offered his hand and she gratefully accepted it, marvelling at how soft and gentle his big hands were.

* * *

><p>In the darkness of the shabby inn room Hope waited. For the past week this had been her main activity: waiting, either if it was at Cosy's or in her room. She was waiting for Noah to come back from one of his endless visits to the academy, she was waiting for Evan to burst in the small village and challenge her headfirst, and she was waiting for the magical ritual to properly take effect. In short, she was incredibly bored and wanted something, anything to happen. In all truthfulness, she wanted nothing more than to have this whole affair over and done with. As if to contradict her, the ankh on the ring she wore on her left hand glowed a furious red, and the woman stroked it affectionately. Her boredom was a small price to pay for the greater good, wasn't it? Trying to quench the absolute tediousness of the situation, the woman took the huge volume she had been caring around with her everywhere she went and opened it at the last page she had read.<p>

When Noah had suggested enrolling as a potions teacher apprentice as a form of infiltration, Hope had plainly declared that he had lost his marbles. While the doctor's plan did have some merit, there were a couple of logistical problems that could not be so easily overcome. To begin with, even if her training in the magical arts was extensive, Hope had never in her life attended a school, mostly because the kind of training she needed was not taught in schools. When she was a child her father had hired tutors to teach his daughter to read and write, basics about history and geography, foreign languages and lady-like manners but nothing more. All she knew about magic she had discovered on her own with the aid of ancient books, scrolls and entities, not because her parent was unwilling to help her but because he didn't know how he could help his daughter. Secondly, as a result of her less than ordinary training, Hope had never touched a cauldron in her life. What need could she possibly have for potions anyway? Thus, at the present time she was trying to get at least a modicum of training in the art of potion-making before she had to go to the academy and put up a somewhat believable show.

As she was reading about the benefits of some plant whose name she couldn't even pronounce properly, she secretly wondered how many strings Noah had pulled to get her the position of apprentice. She sure knew that he had faked a lot of documents as well, as the only documents she possessed to attest that she was alive and a member of the society were a battered birth certificate and a driving licence. Her friend had always nagged her, with the tenacity of an overgrown mother hen, to get her affairs in order but she always laughed at him, pointing out that even the Hawthorne Estate titles were in her father's name and that he had been dead for over ten years. After all, why would she need paperwork for? She didn't need to get a job, the money that were coming from the estate being enough to support her and any heirs she might have for a long time, she didn't need a passport as she hardly physically crossed any borders and she certainly didn't need or want the Guild to come barging at her door every now and then. No, for all intents and purposes, it was better to be invisible.

She cleared her mind and let Noah's feelings flood her brain. Under normal circumstance, she would have never, ever invaded her friend's privacy in such a way, but now when she barely saw him, even if they shared an uncomfortably small space, she did want to make sure that he was fine. Her main worry, which she had vociferated on countless occasions to no avail, was that he was taking everything too seriously and that he was forming bonds he could do without. As she entered his mind, with the tenderness of a summer breeze, she immediately knew that she had been right and that unnerved her somehow. Hope could feel so many warm feelings surround her, ranging from growing respect, to caring to something even stronger and more powerful. While those kinds of feelings were reserved, up to that point, for only two people, her and his mother, now they were addressed to someone else. Someone she didn't know but whose magical energy she recognised easily.

Hope closed her mind and put the usual barriers in place feeling that she had seen enough of Noah's mind. She had indeed wanted for something to happen but she would have never wanted anything like this. While their relationship had always been strictly one of friendship, and neither parties had ever wanted anything more, she felt a bitter taste in her mouth at his foolishness. Maybe she was just overprotective of her friend, but she knew that no matter how the whole thing would end, Noah would be the one to lose. Walking to the window and taking a look outside she noticed the second development she wasn't welcoming, in the form of a well-groomed, tall man whose arm was intertwined with that of an equally well-toned woman. Hope closed her eyes and sighed softly. Whoever said: "be careful what you wish for" was right.

* * *

><p>Although she was a witch faithful to the Code, Amelia could not help feel a surge of hate and revolt towards the Guild at several points in her career as a headmistress. The first one was when she had wanted to hire Imogen. Being the narrow-minded, bigoted witches they were, the Guild had almost exploded when they heard that Amelia wanted to hire a non-witch in a witch school. She had to go to hell and back to convince them of the appropriateness of her choice, and after mountains of paperwork, they had relented and Cackle's had gained a new gym mistress. The second one had been the visit of Hecketty Broomhead the previous year and she felt perfectly entitled to have such strong, less than positive, emotions towards the Guild, as they almost had the school closed down. The third and last one had been that very day when she, from mountains of unattended paperwork, had extracted a letter declaring that Cackle's Academy was to examine a new student teacher in potions. While the headmistress would have normally had no objections to attend to such requests from the official forum, now, in the light of Constance's poor condition, she wanted nothing less than put an extra strain on the woman. Even if the assigned student was brilliant and taught the girls perfectly, which had never been the case in the past, she knew that Miss Hardbroom would worry. She was Constance, after all.<p>

Hence, trying to explain in as little detail as possible the situation in the school, more for the sake of Miss Hardbroom's privacy than anything else, Amelia had been on the phone with the Guild for the past five hours. Being transferred from department to department, being encouraged to place useless complaints in writing that she knew no one would ever read and being told to hold the line a countless times, did nothing to reassure the headmistress of a swift resolution to her plight or of the Guild's efficiency. After five hours of being tossed like a tennis ball from official to official, Amelia finally received an answer but it wasn't the one she was waiting for. Albeit the resident potion mistress went on a leave of absence, which was as probable as hell freezing over, Cackle's was to accommodate and examine a new witch student teacher in potions.

"Ladies, I have an announcement to make…"Amelia said tiredly and wondered how on earth Constance managed to stay on her feet after what she had been through the past weeks. "As a special request of the Guild we are to examine a student potions teacher. She will be arriving this Monday and her name is…" the headmistress said, taking all her information from the official letter she had received.

"Hope!" Davina said enthusiastically, munching on some freshly picked roses. "I met her earlier!"

"Indeed. Her name is Hope Hawthorne. Where did you meet her, Davina?" she asked patiently, somewhat surprised that the witch was already somewhere in the vicinity of the school.

"Today, at Cosy's. She told me that there had been some difficulty with the paperwork for her placement. She is a most delightful young woman!" the chanting teacher declared with an exaggerated nod of her head, as if wanting to convince her fellow co-workers of the truthfulness of her words.

"I do hope that she is qualified enough to deal with the third year…"Miss Hardbroom raised a sceptical eyebrow, a recommendation form Miss Bat not being a form of flattery in her books.

"I think the girls will love her! She is so nice and so well put together!" the chanting teacher said more forcefully, guessing what her stoic colleague was implying.

"She is not supposed to be loved Miss Bat, but be respected. She is not coming here to make friends, but to be assessed and teach the girls!" Constance's tone was sharper than intended and she could almost see the chanting teacher physically shrink in her battered chair.

"There's nothing wrong with being loved by the girls, Constance…" the woman's voice was now softer and carried a lot more meaning that it did before and the potions mistress immediately understood what she meant. As she looked into her eyes, the stare of the older woman expressed so many emotions ranging from empathy to sincere sadness, all addressed to her, that Constance needed to take a deep breath to steady herself. She then knew, for certain, that despite their differences, the chanting teacher truly cared for her and hadn't meant what she said as an offence but as a friendly advice. An advice she couldn't follow, for it went against her very individuality.

"Now, there isn't any need to argue about Miss Hawthorne's competence before we even met her." Amelia said in a motherly voice noticing the subtle silent exchange between the two staff members and being secretly pleased about it. Maybe if Constance realized that she was surrounded by people who truly cared for her she would be willing to open up more. Maybe she would even ask for their help.

Only when the two left for their respective classes did Amelia notice her gym mistress starring quietly at the damp weather outside, with a dreamy look on her face. She hadn't said a word during the entire discussion and the headmistress suspected that she hadn't heard most of it either. The older woman could feel her lips turning into an unwilling smile. Love did make fools out of people.

* * *

><p>Imogen could feel her heart jump in her throat as she saw the blond man come through Walker's gate carrying a big, almost ostentatious, bouquet of red roses. Evan walked in the school as if he owned the place, and considering his previous donation he probably would have been able to buy it if he so saw fit. He was clearly in a good mood, smiling at the girls that were snickering at the sight of him with the roses while walking with refinement and confidence towards the staff room. There, in the same grandiose manner that would have probably suited no one but himself, he opened the door with a thud and offered the roses to the gym teacher who accepted them with a big grin and a flush in her tanned cheeks. Before turning to properly salute the headmistress, he graciously kissed her hand and she chuckled like a feeble-minded school girl.<p>

"Miss Cackle, I am afraid I will yet again deprive you of the company of your gym mistress" he declared charmingly, with an exaggerated bow and the headmistress could not help but smile at his mock gallantry.

"This is truly becoming a habit, Evan" the older woman said with mock-seriousness, secretly pleased that Imogen had found someone as charming as him, although at times he did seem slightly larger-than-life.

"What can I do, if every passing day I find it harder to live without seeing Imogen's sweet face" he replied with an exaggerated sigh, and a playful smile appeared on his lips, while the woman in question blushed more profusely. "Shall we, my dear?"

"Where to?" Miss Drill asked self conscious of the ratty gym wear she was currently wearing. During the past week alone, after their first date, Evan had taken her to some of the most exquisite and expensive restaurants she had ever seen in her life, and if he had chosen a place of that calibre again, then she feared that her outfit would be quite inappropriate.

"That, my darling, is for me to know and for you to wonder" he said with derision and winked at the headmistress as he gently nudged Imogen out of the staff room. "Do not worry, you look more than lovely" he followed while opening the door of his sleek black car, as if guessing her doubts.

As they descended from the car in the middle of the village square Evan could feel the rush of powerful magical energy surround him. Instinctively he looked up and found the source of such strong magic easily. There at the window of a battered in stood unchanged, apart from the shorter hair, the woman he had been looking for almost ten years. Her face set in stone, her blue eyes widened in surprise and realization she looked upon him with a cold, calculating stare. With a fleeting smirk upon his face he nodded his head in acknowledgement and she responded equally courteously. They looked like two duellists greeting each other on the battlefield. The game was becoming much more interesting.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>

And we have made it to the end of another chapter. I hope you have enjoyed the adventures of our favourite Cackle's characters. You already know the drill, any comments, questions, thoughts, angry words that you might have at what I am doing to our lovely deputy, can be sent through your reviews and I will reply to them as soon as possible.

As you already know, here comes a sneak preview from the next chapter of Fire and Ice:

_Hope tries to teach potions while Constance realizes that she has made a new friend. The girls share their opinions on the new student teacher and Mr Mallard meets someone new. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **

Dear reader,

Thank you, yet again, for returning to read this story. I am very sorry that I did not update earlier, but yet again life interfered with my scheduled updates. I need to especially thank those that have read and reviewed every single chapter:** Chrissiemusa****, ****HB rules**, **Princess Sammi**, and of course, the wonderful **NextChristineDaae**. Thank you for being together with me on this journey. I truly appreciate it!

Please note, before reading this chapter, that I have absolutely no preference as far as religious beliefs are concerned, and my comments about the Catholic Church are neither meant as offensive, nor do they reflect my beliefs in any way. That section is there to present a social issue and to serve as a way to advance the plot.

Yours faithfully,

Lemondrop

**PS: This chapter contains blood, mentions of abuse and sex and should not be read by people who are younger than 14.**

* * *

><p><strong>FIRE AND ICE <strong>

**BOOK I: THE WIELDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR**

**Chapter 6****: ****What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others**_ (Pericles)_

_The priests' little wife_

That's how most of the boys in the school called him and they were, for all intents and purposes, right. Ever since he could remember, the boy had been educated at a catholic school run by priests. It was a beautiful place with carefully tended gardens, spacious dorms and large classrooms. Every day, at ten past three in the afternoon, he would be taken from among his peers and led to a dark room, under the pretence that he would be helped with the practicing of his music. As he walked through the dark corridors of the school he could feel his heart pounding furiously in his chest. He knew what was going to happen. How could he not? Everyone knew. If the boy was tall or heavy that wouldn't attract _him_. He tended to take pre-pubescent boys that were rather slim built, whose bodies were showing the first signs of entering the awkward period of adolescence. For girls it was different. Being an all-boys school the man did not have a constant access to girls so only those young ladies that were part of the congregation were in danger. During mass, if you had a short dress, were under the age of ten, he might have been tempted to, and often did, raise your dress to get a glimpse of your underwear. In the girl's case the viewing was actually more arousing than the touching.

The boy entered the room his hands shaking involuntarily. There, the priest was, as always, waiting for him. In a matter of seconds he could feel the adult hands of the man rub against his back and his calloused lips kiss the nape of his neck. He fought the urge to close his eyes, for he knew that the man liked to be watched and failure to do so would result in a dire punishment. He could see him undress with deliberate laziness, relishing in the fact that the child was afraid of him. When all his clothes were lying forgotten on the floor, the man proceeded to undress his pray, his satisfaction growing with every layer of clothing he managed to take off. When they both were as naked as God had made them, he started the process of exploring the body of the child. His soft and delicate skin, his small hands, his underdeveloped genital area, they were all a mark of purity and the priest felt proud that he was once again the one to defile this said purity. With a malicious nod of his head, he motioned the child to use his hands to grow his private area and with unshed tears in his eyes, the boy complied.

He had tried to tell another priest about what was happening but that priest instead of helping him, said that he should keep the ordeal a secret. To be certain that the boy would not talk, he applied the Seal of Confession upon the conversation, which meant that the child should keep what was happening a secret upon pain of excommunication. Ever since he was young he had been taught that God and the Catholic Church should be the most important authorities in his life. He was being told that he should serve and bow to their unquestionable power and that loosing their love was as daunting as loosing one's life. He did not want to loose God's affection for he feared that one day he would stand judgement and be sent to hell, as such he never breathed a word. Yet, he could not help but wonder why God wanted him to never tell another soul. He knew that what the man was doing to him was bad and he could not understand why He allowed it to happen. Wasn't God almighty and all-powerful? Why would He let this man defile him in such a manner? Why would He even allow this man to be one of His most faithful servants? As he felt the priest's hands rub against his naked body he knew that he could no longer take it anymore. If God was too busy to get rid of this vermin, then he would do God's work and rid the world of him. With shaking hands he took the paper cutter from the desk and plunged its sharp end into the man's chest.

When the woman entered the room he was sitting naked on the floor listening how the priest was drawing his last ragged breaths. His tormentor was dying, by his hand, right in front of his eyes, but he could feel nothing but a perverse sense of satisfaction and righteousness. She came to where they were, the folds of her white robe sweeping the floor, and knelt in front of the child and the dying man. The boy could feel waves and waves of energy surrounding the woman and he wondered if she was a creature sent by God himself to help him in his predicament. To him, she looked like a colour version of the statues he saw every day during mass, but something about her made him feel uneasy. Despite the look of calm and serenity on her pale face there was something in her eyes that made him squirm. Although apparently gentle, her mesmerizing blue stare held a spark of something devious, as if the woman hid a certain amount of maliciousness in her soul.

"You aren't an angel…" he stated simply, looking at the stern way in which she watched the horrific scene.

"Why not?" she asked in a low soothing tone.

"You have no wings" he said simply and the woman chuckled lightly. "God, would not forgive him! God would not send an angel for him!" he followed with conviction, his bloodied hands trembling uncontrollably. "Do you know how he does it? Do you? He comes up to them in church and starts saying things like: _'Hi dear, how are you doing? You are a sweetheart, you know that? Come here, give me a hug. I like you a lot' _" he made a ridiculous impersonation of the priest, his voice heavy with tears "They all fall for it. Even the parents…" he finished bitterly and covered his face with his hands allowing tears of resentment to fall on his cheeks.

Hope looked at the boy and at the priest and sighed softly under her breath. She had seen many cases like this and whether it involved a parent, a sibling or some perfect stranger she could not help but feel sorry for the victims. It angered her that someone would abuse a child in such a way. It was sickening. Especially, if the abuser was supposed to be a spiritual leader. She was well aware of how situations involving the Catholic Church went. For the greater good and prestige of the institution, most of the cases never saw the light of day and that meant that the church was successful and that the victims were forced to silence for an indefinite period of time. Instead of excommunicating them, bishops moved molesting priests from parish to parish, leaving more and more children exposed to their advances. She supposed in this case parents could not exactly be blamed. After all they did genuinely believe that their child was safe in the hands of a good person who spoke the word of God every day. And yet, she could not help but wonder who the monster was: the one that committed the abuse or the one that witnessed it but did nothing to stop it.

"Child, leave!" she said with apparent calm while her eyes sparked with anger. That boy did not need to witness more than he already did. He did not need to loose the last trace of purity that remained in his soul. Sensing that she was serious and being afraid of the coldness of those blue eyes, the boy left the room soundlessly.

"Please…" the priest said in a raspy voice, blood oozing from his chest wound. Hope looked at the pitiful figure and extended her hand as if to place it on his forehead but after a moment's thought she retrieved it promptly and straightened herself up.

"No" she answered in a harsh voice filled with malice and bitterness. With swift movements she conjured a chair next to the bleeding man and sat on it gracefully. With a frightful glare in eyes that were blood red, she waited.

* * *

><p>The sun was shyly piercing through the thick blanket of clouds marking the beginning of a new day. The deputy of Cackle's academy looked at this resurrection with intensity as she sat, as straight as ever, at her desk. A new day. On one hand, she felt a sense of extreme gratitude at being able to witness one more sunrise, to smell the fresh morning air embedded with the scent of rain, and to see the darkness of the night being conquered and consumed by light. On the other hand, she felt marginally sad and could not help but ask herself to how many dawns will she be able to bear witness. The fact that something was eating at her body from the inside had long ago become a reality that she had accepted. But despite appearances, that acceptance had not come with a sense of relief or calm. It had increased her turmoil, it had made her feel more aware of what she would be leaving behind and it had made her see all the things that she had yet to live, yet to experience. For her, logically accepting her own mortality came with a feeling of hopelessness that she abhorred mostly because it showed her how morally weak she was. Constance looked at the multiple bottles of pills crowding the small desk in her room and sighed. She was disgusted. Not with the pills but with herself and the frailty of her body.<p>

"I should make a will…" she whispered softly to herself, more to dispel the morbid silence in the room than anything else.

She wondered if that would truly be necessary. Constance was aware that she did not own much and that her fortune amounted to her old parents' house, which she had not sold for sentimental reasons, some old family jewellery she had never worn, her rather vast library and a bank account containing her savings from a lifetime of teaching. She planned to leave every single worldly possession she had to the academy she had given her life to, and that should be legally noted somewhere. Not that Miss Cackle would have any challengers. She supposed that that was the benefit with having no family and no heir. Now, when she could feel the hour of her death draw near, and despite the doctor's positive outlook on her condition she could feel that it was probably going to happen sooner rather than later, she asserted the relationship she had with the other staff members in another light. She did not know if the headmistress or anyone else was aware of it, but the staff and students had become, throughout the years, a substitute family for her.

Amelia was certainly the mother figure, always there for her even if she did not realize it, Davina reminded her of the crazy old aunt she never had and Imogen was a perfect substitute for a sister. Constance had no idea when it had happened. She had no idea when she had started to form such profound bonds with them but throughout the years she did. And although she never expressed her feelings in words or gestures, she knew that, to some extent, the other three were aware of how she felt and was sure that the feeling was somewhat returned. Hence it pained her heart to leave them behind and to make them suffer. Amelia had no idea what kind of effect her tired, saddened looks had on her deputy. Every time Constance saw that gaze, she just wanted to embrace the headmistress and tell her everything was going to be fine. Yet she could not. Firstly, because she was not the kind of person to get physical, and secondly, because she was not in the habit of lying. The doctor had explained to the entire staff what Constance was going through and what the condition entailed, not only because they both felt that the other women deserved to be informed, but also because she needed a medical proxy, a caregiver, when she would become too ill to take care of herself. As such the other three women were fully aware of what was happening and Amelia had freely offered herself as the caregiver. Not in a million years would the potions mistress burden her headmistress in such a way and she did sincerely hope that it would not come to that. The older woman did not deserve to see her too weak to move, too weak to eat on her own, too weak to breathe. She did not deserve to see her dying and Constance was resolved, to the best of her abilities, to prevent Miss Cackle from seeing her in such a condition.

Another factor that had become increasingly important in her preparation to deal with death, was Noah. She had no idea when and where along the past short days Dr Elwood had become Noah, but each of his visits reminded her that underneath the façade she displayed to the world, there was still a beating heart who wanted, craved, some sort of tender feeling. She was practical and pragmatic and, as such, did not believe in ridiculous notions like love at first sight. She did believe in attraction though, and to her shame, she could say that she did find the man very attractive both physically and spiritually. Although Constance hadn't known him for too long, she could sense that there was something more about the man than his gentle, sweet disposition and half smiles that never managed to make his incredibly green eyes sparkle. Maybe if the circumstances were different, if her life had been different, she would have wanted to pursue a relationship with him. But, taking into account the present developments, it would sadly be both improbable and unfeasible.

She suddenly felt claustrophobic, the walls of the dingy old room closing on her and the air thinning considerably. She wanted, needed, to get out. With as deep a breath she could manage, she crossed her arms on her chest and willed herself to disappear. As she stood in the middle of the forest closest to Cackle's, gasping for breath, she thought about how ironic it was that an action that had been like a second nature to her was now so very draining. To her upmost displeasure, not only was her health failing but her magic as well. Simple spells that she had known for years were suddenly too much for her and she had to resort to doing a lot of things the non-magical way. She was planning to investigate why this was happening at some point, but during the past few days, everything that had her out of bed seemed to render her tired in no time. The only time she felt moderately comfortable was when she was resting and her lower stamina, coupled with the fact that she still insisted to keep performing her teaching duties and her duties as a deputy, left her completely drained at the end of each day. It certainly did not help that some nights her sleep was restless and plagued by dreams that she only confessed to her faithful Morgana.

Once again, as she could barely take in the fresh smell of the pine trees, she felt confronted with the limitations of her body. She did not want to give up but she feared that she did not have the strength to carry on any longer. To be reduced to such a weakened state was, for her, worse than being dead and buried. It was almost inconceivable for her, the one that was always a pillar of strength for others, to be forced to depend on those that used to rely on her. With a flick of her wrist, only to prove that she still could, she magically converted her tight-fitting dress into something more flowing. Then, under the cover of the forest she did something that she hadn't done for almost twenty years. She ran. It did not mater that searing pain was building up in her chest, it did not matter that an all too familiar weakness was engulfing her knees, and it certainly did not matter that her lungs were screaming for air. It was stupid, foolish and so unlike her, but she needed it.

Only when her body could not take anymore, she allowed herself to gracefully fall on the ground. Tears welled up in her hazel eyes and she allowed herself to cry.

* * *

><p>The woman that came out of the black car was the kind Amelia would have never expected to see in her school. She was very tall and thin, her long, almost endless legs were emphasized by the moderately short, cream skirt she wore and the tall, red stilettos. The Victorian style white shirt that highlighted her bosom in a delicate manner was complemented by a long golden necklace that gave a nice touch without being overbearing. The woman's raven hair was styled in perfect curls that reached the nape of her neck and her clear blue eyes were accentuated by both the tastefully done make up but also by the vibrantly red lipstick she wore. Despite being delighted with the appearance of her new witch student teacher, Amelia could not help but feel that the woman was in deep contrast with her surroundings and that if indeed she lived the lifestyle her upscale clothing suggested that she did, then she would be sorely disappointed with life within the academy. Another of the headmistresses' concerns was invariably Miss Hardbroom. She knew that the moment her deputy saw the woman, based on appearances only, she would dismisses her as a mindless silly girl who had no business teaching her third years. This could be a problem not only for the girl but also because it couldn't be good for the condition Constance was in to get angry. Wishing groundlessly that the woman had chosen to wear something different for her first day of teaching, Miss Cackle walked towards the girl rather dejectedly.<p>

"Good Morning! I am Amelia Cackle, headmistress of Cackle's Academy" she said courteously and extended a polite hand which the woman took pleasantly in her own perfectly manicured one.

"Very nice to meet you, Miss Cackle. My name is Hope" she replied with a beaming smile on her face and Amelia could almost literarily feel the easy confidence she exuded.

Hope looked around at her surroundings and could not help but mentally sigh at what she saw. The castle, a building whose bricks seemed to have witnessed too many winters and whose roof was in danger of loosing some tiles, looked worse than the shabby inn she had spent her past weeks into. Yet, despite the sorry looking appearance of the place, the pretend potions student teacher could say that she was pleased. As soon as she had entered through what she would later find out that was called Walker's Gate, a wave of magical energy powerfully hit her. She could almost smell the scent of raw, untamed power that was embedded in the old walls and above all, she could sense, albeit faintly, the magical signature she had been looking for. After muttering some foreign words inaudibly under her breath, she quickly established that the magical signature wasn't that of the headmistress of the academy.

"I am surprised you haven't come by broom, my dear" the headmistress said in a conversational tone, leading the younger woman inside the castle, towards the staff room.

"I am not that much of a skilled flyer. I am not too fond of heights and as such I prefer to drive whenever possible…"she half lied, a red blush creeping on her pale cheeks. Truth be told, she had no idea of whether she was a skilled flyer or not, as she had never mounted a broom in her life. Not that she ever wanted to.

"I see…" Amelia's eyebrows shot up in surprise but made no further comment as to not embarrass her new teacher. It was truly odd to find a grown witch who did not have a propensity towards flying.

Hope could tell that her answer had raised some suspicions in the mind of the headmistress but upon looking at her kind and motherly face, she instinctively knew that the head of Cackle's would not be a threat as long as she did not attack one of her own. Her dealings with people had made her, over the years, gain a wonderful insight in the mind of human beings and allowed her to categorize everyone she met with tremendous accuracy. Miss Cackle, from the moment she had met her, had been nothing but polite and caring, although some sort of sadness seemed to be hidden in the gentle old eyes. She, of course, knew from Noah what the source of this sadness was and she could not help but feel a pang of jealousy. From what she had heard from her best friend, who took his mission as an inside man quite seriously, the person she was looking for, despite her dire predicament, had the emotional range of an ice cube and never showed any kind of feeling towards those that cared for her. Noah had tried, in the light of his newly found and well-hidden affection for the said individual, to sugar coat this fact and to try to venture certain guesses as to why the woman was so very cold, but truth be told Hope did not care. She had met both Miss Bat and the headmistress and neither deserved to be shut out. She thus felt jealousy that this woman, who was so very private, borderline misanthropic in her opinion, had people who were caring for her while she had nought.

* * *

><p>As soon as she entered the staff room, which wasn't in a better condition than the rest of the castle, Hope had her hands full with the chanting teacher. Quite literarily. As if they were old friends, Davina Bat found it appropriate to jump from her cupboard and hug the life out of the younger woman. Hope had been taken by surprise at first but returned the affectionate gesture with a moderate amount of passion. Although she did like the warm welcome she was receiving, she wasn't the kind of person that liked to be touched too much. It wasn't because she was snobbish, or tried to distance herself from people, it was merely because she wasn't exactly used to such tactile gestures. Growing up without the affection of a mother and with a father that was as stern as he was loving, she did not get the opportunity to be hugged too often. As such, she relished in the close proximity of another human being who, for a change, wasn't dead or dying.<p>

"Come… I saved you some of my special fruit salad... "Miss Bat said excitedly taking the girl's hand in her own and dragging her towards a small oak table where some potted plants were artistically placed "But first, I want you to meet my special friends…"

"Thank you, Miss Bat…" she answered, offering the woman a genuine smile.

"Unhand that poor girl immediately, Davina…" a powerful voice boomed behind the chanting teacher and a squeak escaped her lips.

Hope looked towards the source of the voice and saw a tall straight woman whose stature had once spoke of power but now seemed too frail and weak to inspire strength. Checking discretely for the magical signature of the woman confirmed what she already suspected. This woman was indeed the one she had been looking for.

"Constance, let her be. I don't think Hope minds…" Amelia gently addressed her stern deputy who was eyeing the pair with a suspicious, albeit tired glare.

"Hello, I am Hope Hawthorne" she said with a sweet smile, offering Constance her hand.

Constance accepted the extended hand with caution and could not help but notice that those were not the hands of a future potion mistress. It was common knowledge that as a student at a potions course you were prone to accidents and those accidents affected your hands, leaving them if not coarse and dry, at least scarred by cuts and minor spills. Yet, the girl's hand was perfectly soft, her skin looking as if it had never touched a burning hot cauldron. Furthermore, the girl's nails were rather long and styled with a perfect, red manicure which was yet again showing that she had never worked with ingredients. Every potion mistress in her right mind knew that having long nails while cutting, chopping and adding volatile or poisonous substances was not only impractical but downright dangerous. What if particles of such a substance got stuck under your nails and then inhaled or accidentally ingested the spores? The consequences could be awful and Constance could infer two things: either that the woman had an absolute disregard for her safety and the safety of others, or that she had never made a potion in her life. Considering the circumstances, the deputy did not know which one was worse. If it was the first one, then she would have to have a serious talk with the girl and monitor her carefully, making sure that she did not put the third years at risk. If it was the second one, it meant that the woman had an ulterior motive for coming to Cackle's.

* * *

><p>According to most studies people's number one fear is public speaking. Number two is death. From this, Jerry Seinfeld inferred that that to the average person this means that if you go to a funeral you are better off in the casket than doing the eulogy. This surely applied to her for she could certainly deal with death. Hell, she did it on an almost daily basis. Public speaking on the other hand, especially in front of hyperactive teenagers with shorter than average attention spans, she was not so certain about. It wasn't that she was shy or that she had a natural aversion towards communicating with people, far from it in fact. She liked associating with others and in her limited circle of friends she was quite popular. Her apprehension streamed from two other causes. It is with this thought in mind that Hope entered the potions lab prepared to deliver her first lesson and subtly surveyed the young faces that were looking at her with curiosity.<p>

"Good Morning, girls!" she said pleasantly, letting out a breath she had been holding "My name is Hope Hawthorne and I will take your potions classes for the following two weeks"

"Good morning, Miss Hawthorne" the class chorused and she offered a beaming smile towards them.

"Now, I understand that you are studying concealing methods" she said in her best professional tone and yet again smiled upon seeing their nods. Thank god Noah had been right about what the girls were studying and that he had forced her to read and learn their third year text book. She made a mental note to give him kudos for his abilities as a spy "There are various ways to hide your presence from prying eyes. There are the obvious ones like the Invisibility Potion or the Chameleon Potion that literary make others unable to detect your presence. The caveat of such potions is that while they deceive the visual sense well enough, they are unable to trick other senses. For example, even if you are invisible, if you make noise or if you are wearing a strong perfume, the person who is looking for you will be able to find you easily enough. Hence, today we will be studying another form of hiding your presence, and that is blending into the environment by becoming a part of it. Basically today we are going to be studying turning into trees. Please open your books to page sixty eight for the method and ingredients of a Tree Potion" she recited what Noah had made her learn by heart during the past few days and was pleased to see that none of the girls seemed to be confused.

Hope gracefully sat at the desk opening the third year potions book and revising the contents of the potion she had just assigned, making sure that she did not forget to mention anything important. From the corner of her eyes she could already see the girls busying themselves with cutting roots or crowding towards the ingredient cabinet, the sound of a mild chatter coming from the group. She smiled discretely at the sight, thinking about how lucky they were to be so free and without a care in the world. Although she would have been a hypocrite to pretend that her own teenage years had been a bad period in her life, she had never had the luxury of being as careless as they were. As soon she could talk and think for herself, Hope had been introduced, more or less abruptly, in the art of elemental magic and then, death. It wasn't that she blamed her father for never allowing her the freedom to be a proper child, but she did resent him for taking away a part of life that she would never have the opportunity to regain. Of course, she was aware that her father, bless his soul, had done the best that he could considering the situation. After her mother died in childbirth, he was left with an infant daughter whose powers and mission was beyond his understanding. He was left with a child that stirred an equal amount of love and fear into his soul. An abomination of nature he had to teach how to harness her amazing power.

Mildred was beyond ecstatic that for once she did not have double potions with Miss Hardbroom. The cause of her excitement wasn't the fact that she was treated so harshly by her regular teacher. After three years, Millie had become accustomed to that and took it in her stride as a given, rather than complain about it. The cause was that she did not have to face her form tutor for another two weeks if she played her cards right. Her reluctance to meet Miss Hardbroom had its source in what had happened nights before when she had dared to invade the woman's personal space and hugged her. Although the teacher did not seem to mind, and she did not make any kind of comment regarding the incident, Mille was still mortified. It also did not help that both Enid and Maud had intensely interrogated her about it and that she couldn't provide them with a satisfactory answer. As much as she wanted to explain why she had hugged the potions mistress, both for the benefit of her friends and herself, she found that she was unable to justify her peculiar action. All that she remembered was that, at that specific time, it had felt like the right thing to do. That, coupled with an atypical feeling of ultimate safety and belonging while Miss Hardbroom had responded to her affectionate gesture, gave a whole new surreal dimension to what had happened that particular night. While her form tutor was indeed a powerful witch and had been the one to always rely on in a crisis, she was by no means a calming or nurturing person. Moreover, when Miss Hardbroom had her off days, she even scared Mildred out of her wits. As such, the student was pretty much certain that under normal circumstances she would have never sought comfort from the severe witch. Her feeling of uneasiness was magnified tenfold by the fact that no matter how hard she tried, she could not recall the subject of her dream. Mille had a nagging feeling that whatever she had dreamed about had been important and that her dream had been the cause of her out of character behaviour. Yet, no matter how hard she tried to rack her brains, she could not remember.

The moment their temporary potions teacher entered the room, high heels clicking on the stone pavement, Ethel Hallow was enthralled. The woman held herself with such grace and deportment and her clothes were so very glamorous, that the girl could not help but assimilate the image of Miss Hawthorne with that of the Barbie dolls she used to play with when she had been a child. She wondered for a moment if their new teacher would mind terribly if she asked her to show her the contents of her wardrobe. Judging by what the woman was currently wearing, Ethel was almost certain that such an experience would be like looking into a veritable treasure chest. She did realize that she was probably being incredibly superficial, but the student could not help it. Although she had been raised in a family that was more than well off and had a certain amount of prestige, Ethel wanted more. She did realize that while at Cackle's the Hallows were considered as superior, and certain allowances were made because of that, when she would ultimately leave the protective confines of the academy, she would be on her own. Hence, she ardently aspired one day to be part of the true aristocracy of the magical world and to have people respect her everywhere she went, not only because of her talents but also because of who she was, and what she looked like. She wanted people to turn their heads when she walked in a room, much in the same way that they had turned their heads when Miss Hawthorne came into the potions lab. As soon as the teacher started to speak with precision, a distinctive aristocratic accent clear in her low tone, Ethel not only decided that one day she would be exactly like her, but also realized that she had seen the woman before.

* * *

><p>Imogen Drill fumbled with her small, black cell phone wondering if she should press "Send" or not. Although she did find it rather inappropriate to break off her relationship with Serge via SMS, she thought that keeping the man that had more or less devoted two years to her any longer in the dark was cruel. She did not know when and where their relationship had lost its spark. In all honesty she could not remember even having said spark in the first place. Of course, when she had met him during the girls' great outdoors expedition she had been impressed by his good looks, by the similarity in their preferences and by the way in which they seemed to share a parallel outlook on life. When she had allowed him on the last night at the camping site to come into her tent and spend the night there, she surely did not expect that one night stand to turn into a two year relationship.<p>

Truth be told, Imogen was afraid of being alone and that one day she would wake up to see that her life had passed and that she would die in solitude. She admired the Constance Hardbrooms of the world who seemed to have given up on male affection and found meaning in their lives through other means. But she was not one of them. While the Academy played an important part in her life and she did feel a tremendous amount of devotion towards the girls, Imogen still hoped that one day she would have a husband and children to claim as her own. From this wish, or better said need, streamed her relationship with Serge. Her track record with the opposite sex wasn't exactly perfect. Her first crush had been the ginger-haired kid that tended to her mother's roses. He had also been a compulsive shoplifter. Her first real love had been during college, in the form of a married man and before she found out that little detail he had taken away everything she had: her chastity, her purity and her dignity. The only normal relationship she could pride herself on was that with a London attorney who represented her former school, Havisham High. He was charming, he was smart and he definitely was a man that any woman would want to marry. But at that time, she was still young and had aspirations of her own, which meant that she wasn't ready to give up on her own life and become a full-time wife and mother. She then regarded relationships and, why not, sex as something to fill the time, a means of having fun and fulfilling certain necessities. Thus, after almost three years when he wanted to take things to a more serious and formal level, she broke up with her lawyer and left Havisham High for Cackle's Academy. She was looking for a new beginning, a fresh lease on life.

The pitfall of teaching and living in an all girls academy was that there were virtually no men. While in the beginning Imogen wasn't desperate to find a partner, after a while the fact that the only contact she had with the opposite sex was Mr Blossom was a bit unnerving for her. The second problem in this respect, which was restricted strictly to Cackle's, was Miss Hardbroom. From the first moment she had met her, Miss Drill had been certain that she did not like the woman. She was everything that Imogen wasn't and for that, in the beginning, she had resented Constance. Yet, as time passed, despite their frequent clashes, she had learned to accept and respect the woman for what she was and what she represented. That did not mean that she condoned Constance's desire to keep the opposite sex away from her and from the school. As such, after years of being without male comfort, Imogen felt increasingly desperate, bitter and ready to engage in a relationship. That was when she had met Serge. He had come waltzing in her life at a moment when she had been emotionally vulnerable and had offered everything she wanted and needed at that time. Yet now, that was no longer enough.

Ever since she had met him, Evan Mallard had managed to fulfil pretty much every single fantasy she had about the ideal man. He was charming, he was the perfect gentleman, had a certain wealth and knew how to please a woman both physically and spiritually. For Imogen, whose pragmatic mind sometimes ventured into the realms of romance, she was certain that Evan was her Mr Darcy, or maybe her Rhett Butler. She blushed when thinking about their beautiful dates that ended in tumultuous love-making sessions. It was like nothing she had felt before in her life and she was pretty sure that if that if it wasn't love already, she could see herself falling in love with Evan. With a sure hand she pressed the small "Send" button and, feeling liberated, she walked inside Cackle's with a joyful step.

* * *

><p>Hope could sense danger brewing up in the air and as such, she reacted quickly with the agility she knew she possessed. With a wave of her hand she placed a barrier of red flames between the exploding potion and the terrified student and watched how bits of the potion hit the barrier with an angry hiss. When she felt it was safe to do so, with the same ease, she lowered the flames and looked upon the shocked expressions of the pupils. She felt certain that none of them had seen such an impressive display of magic before and she could understand the awe with which they were watching her. Yet so, she could not say that she felt entirely comfortable under their scrutinising gaze. Firstly, because she wasn't used to people watching her quite so intently and secondly, because she had not intended to show her command of elemental power.<p>

"Class dismissed…" she said sharply, yet kindly and the girls all crowded out too excited about what happened to be quiet. "Not you, Mildred…"The teenager turned from the door and threw her friends a worried look. Although Miss Hawthorne did not seem especially frightening, and she did not shout like HB, her display did prove that she was a powerful witch and that slightly unnerved the student. After all, she did not know her at all and she did not know what forms of punishment the new teacher saw fit to apply.

"I am sorry, miss…" she said in a shaky tone, her eyes wondering longingly towards the door. Why did it always have to be her? Why did she always have to be the one that screwed up?

"It's alright, Mildred… I suppose I should have warned you about putting too much bindweed in the potion…" she said calmly and smiled at the girl. "I didn't ask you to stay behind because I wanted to chastise you, but to ask you if you are fine"

"I am alright, miss…" she said softly, finding that her undone shoe laces were suddenly much more interesting. Trying to occupy her hands she twisted and turned her potions notebook until she unwittingly dropped it. Hope sighed for a moment and bent over to where her student's notebook had fallen and opened to show a most beautiful line-art drawing.

"This is a most wonderful drawing, Mildred…" she said with genuine amazement looking at the well-drawn picture of the tabby cat. Feeling an impulse to touch the black ink lines, she gently put her hand over the black drawing and fought the urge to let surprise show on her face. There, underneath her fingers, she could sense air pulsating gently, making the drawing feel almost alive.

Hope looked up to see the face of the girl she had disregarded before as a mere student. The girl looked frightened and ashamed. It was clear because of her hunched back, and her awkward stance, that, despite being told that she would not be punished, the student still expected some sort of reprimand for her actions. During the morning, the headmistress had been kind enough to walk her through the class registry and provide descriptions and names for each student. She had also warned her about Mildred's unfortunate clumsiness and how that tended to get in the way of her potion brewing. Yet, upon seeing the girl so very subdued she could not help but wonder if the student's clumsiness was the only thing that prevented her from brewing more effectively. Hope only had a limited amount of knowledge about potions and teaching, but she was a tremendous judge of characters. As such, based on the girl's stance and on what she knew about their regular potions teacher, she could infer that the pupil was used to be reprimanded and punished. Maybe if Mildred had been encouraged rather than chided, her brewing and her overall performance would have greatly improved. Under normal circumstances, Hope wouldn't have exactly cared about the welfare of any of the girls, but in Mildred's case, there was the drawing to take into consideration. The beautiful drawing of the tabby, which was so very life-like.

"It looks like it's going to leap off the page…" she followed in the same controlled voice, her fingers stroking the lines gently.

"Thank you, Miss" Mildred answered with genuine gratitude. No one had ever praised her drawing skills before and it felt nice that she was being commended for something she was good at.

"You should keep drawing, Mildred. You are really good at it!" Hope said with a smile, pleased that her words had such an effect on the girl. "Now, run along. I believe you have chanting next and Miss Bat would be most displeased if I keep you longer than necessary…"

* * *

><p>News of the disaster in the potions lab and the way in which casualties had been avoided travelled with the speed of lightning among the student body before it reached the ears of the staff. The staff room was empty apart from the dour potions mistress, who was sitting before a mount of paperwork at her desk in the corner, and Hope took a deep breath, preparing herself for what was going to come.<p>

"I heard that you had a bit of an accident today in potions, Miss Hawthorne" the figure clad in black said sternly upon hearing the door close, without turning to face the person that had entered.

"It was nothing… Just a potion gone astray…" Hope answered in a detached tone, calmly hoping that the severe woman would not want to dissect the accident too much.

"You should know that it happens a lot during our third year classes. Mostly because of…" she said sternly not liking the calm voice her new colleague employed. She chastised herself for not warning the woman properly before going to class.

"Mildred Hubble?" the younger woman replied with a hint of derision in her voice and noticed that Miss Hardbroom had turned from her paperwork to face her.

"I gather that the headmistress warned you already…" So if this girl knew already, why hadn't she paid more attention to what was going on in the class room? Someone could have been badly hurt.

"Yes and no…" she answered in the same eerily calm voice. It was true that sometime before going to her first class, she had been warned by the headmistress of potential dangers, Mildred included. "I talked to her after the incident and she acted like she had expected the potion to go wrong…"

"What are you trying to say, Miss Hawthorne?" the older woman asked in an ice cold voice, knowing fully well what the girl was implying.

"Maybe she lacks the encouragement she needs…" Hope was unnerved. It was ironical, for her, out of all people in the world to be unnerved by something as mild as a stare but she found that she was.

"Are you criticizing my teaching methods?" Constance asked with the same steeled tone but although she could feel the younger woman was somewhat intimidated, she refused to lower her blue eyes.

"All that I am saying is that, maybe, she would perform better if she wasn't punished all the time" Hope replied in the same calm, almost monotone voice, looking the deputy in the eye.

"At Cackle's we try to take a firm hand with the girls and not coddle them. We are trying to prepare them for the world" Miss Hardbroom stated simply and coldly as if what she proclaimed was a universal truth, her tone involuntarily rising up a notch.

"By bullying them?" she asked with a certain amount of derision and although she was angry, Constance could feel a flicker of respect for the girl. She admired the fact that she was not intimidated by her words or gestures, a feat that was hard even for the other staff members, who had known her for years. Whoever Miss Hawthorne was, she certainly knew how to stand up for what she believed in, and that was something that Constance admired.

Their discussion was interrupted by a slim figure coming into the room. The blond gym mistress entered the staff room in a hurry, a black mobile phone in hand and quickly looked through the morning's mail. Finding what she was looking for she offered a brilliant smile to the two women and left in an equally hurried pace. Her contact with the woman had been limited to a pleasant exchange of introductions and some hurried advice about the third years, but that was enough for Hope to recognise her as the person that had been attached to Evan's arm the previous day. She would bet her life on the fact that the letter Miss Drill was so very pleased about was from the aforementioned man and she could barely contain her urge to snort. She knew Evan very well. She had known the man for years and years and was aware that there was only one woman that Evan had ever loved, and would always love. The others were just his playthings. She knew how charming and glamorous he could be when he wanted to. She knew how easily he could sweep a woman off her feet and make her feel desired. She knew all his antics and was afraid that, like so many other girls, Imogen Drill was one of the many moths drawn to the flame.

"Are you quite alright, Miss Hardbroom?" Hope asked softly cutting her musings short, looking at the way in which the straight woman slumped on her chair for a moment

"Yes…" she answered plainly, in a tired voice, and the younger woman offered a sympathetic smile. Hope closed her eyes for a second and tried to imperceptibly penetrate the woman's mind. She sighed in frustration as the familiar wall of ice appeared in her view. Yet, she could not stifle a slight smirk upon seeing that the ice was slowly, but surely, melting away.

* * *

><p>The woman was screaming in pain, covering the excited encouragement coming from both her husband and the midwife. They were both yelling at her to push harder and harder but she felt as if her body was being snapped in two by the searing pain. It was as if the child refused to part with his mother's womb. With a final effort she managed to get the baby out. She immediately panicked when she heard no scream. Trying to fight the unconsciousness that threatened to envelop her, she looked at the midwife who was holding the small bluish form of a new-born. Instinctively knowing that something was wrong, she tried to reach for the frame of her son or daughter and yet her efforts proved futile for, in a matter of moments, oblivion enveloped her.<p>

Considering the general excitement in the adjacent room, the tall man with blond hair and hazel eyes that entered through the doors, invisible to the doctors that were giving their upmost to revive the mother, seemed eerily calm. With long strides that made his white robe gently sweep the floor, he came to the crib where the child lay as if asleep. Such a small, pure creature deprived of a life which never had a chance to begin. With a soft sigh, he placed his large hand upon the baby's small forehead.

The dark room came alive with the sound of a baby's cry.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>

Thanks for having the patience to read yet another chapter! If you feel so inclined, you can send any comments, questions, thoughts, angry words that you might have through your reviews. I will reply to them as soon as possible.

As you already know, here comes a sneak preview from the next chapter of Fire and Ice:

_Life at Cackle's becomes increasingly interesting. Miss Bat causes a misunderstanding. Evan plots intensely and Noah becomes aware of certain things. _


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note:

Dear reader,

I don't know whether you read my author's notes or not. I hope that you do, but I don't really mind if you deem it unnecessary and skip to the story. Anyway, I must warn you that despite my previous promise to keep these bits of babbling to a minimum, this one will be quite long, for apart from the usual thanks which I must extend to you, I also feel the need to explain myself a bit.

As you noticed (or maybe you didn't) I have been absent for quite a while and didn't update Fire and Ice for more than a month. I can assure you that this didn't happen because I lost interest in the story or because of lack of ideas. In the same vein, I can assure you that as long as you are willing to read this story I will write it, no matter how long it takes. This chapter has been by far the hardest to get out not because of its content but because of the whirlpool of events that has been occurring in the past weeks in my life. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I tried to prevent real life from disturbing my fanfiction routine, I failed and this affected the present story. I once again wish to apologise profusely for not updating sooner and assure you that I didn't mean any disrespect towards you. On the contrary. How could I have anything but the highest regard and affection for you when you waste you precious time reading this?

To those that have been reviewing Fire and Ice and that have supported me up to now: **Chrissiemusa**(who maybe would consider creating a account so I could respond personally to her wonderful reviews),**, ****HB rules**, **Princess Sammi, ****chocomoon, Aleksandra Hardbroom **and **melissa Ivory**,what can I say? I have reading and re-reading your reviews multiple times and each time they have brightened my day and brought a smile to my face. You are a most wonderful bunch of people. I feel humbled and honoured by the fact that you have judged this work so favourably and it is to you that I should apologise the most. I cannot promise that such a delay will never happen again as things are pretty hectic at the moment, but I do promise that I will try my best to avoid it.

Last but most definitely not the least, I need to thank the wonderful **NextChristineDaae** not only because she helped me bear the random events (which weren't necessarily bad, just slightly annoying and time-consuming) that invaded my usually quiet lifestyle, but also because she taught me so much both about writing and life in general. This chapter is dedicated to her.

Yours faithfully,

Lemondrop

Disclaimer: I do not own the passages of the medical pamphlet that Amelia is reading. Those lines are copied shamelessly from such a pamphlet found during my research on the internet (if you have any interest in the matter and want to see it for yourself I can provide you with a link or send it to you). As I said before, I have absolutely no training in the medical field (I don't think watching House MD counts) and I thought it would be better if the information I provide is as accurate as possible.

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><p><strong>FIRE AND ICE <strong>

**BOOK I: THE WIELDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR**

**Chapter 7****: Fear makes strangers of people who would be friends **_(Shirley Maclaine)_

When Hope entered the ragged old room she fought the urge to vomit. The pregnant smell of sweat and urine, combined with the scent of cheap perfume and old rotten food filled her nostrils and made her stomach churn. She started to breathe through her mouth, closing her nostrils to the offending air. Trying to take in as little of her surroundings as it was humanly possible, she carefully walked towards the old Victorian-style bed, which had long lost its shine, determined to get it over and done with quickly. It was in that impossible dim light, squinting her eyes to the point of pain, that she saw the latest person she would come in contact with. Thank god, it was an elderly lady who, judging by her unfocused stare had lost her sight. Hope involuntarily let out a sigh of relief. Most people of a certain age tended to show acceptance towards their own mortality and some of them, especially after a long period of illness, seemed thankful rather than resentful. Yes, that seemed to be like an easy case and she hoped that she would get to leave the place before she died of suffocation.

Her thoughts soon changed when she approached the bed and sensed the faint wave of energy that was surrounding the woman. Being one of the Elemental Masters, she was more sensitive than most to the energies that were either surrounding or coming from an individual. While this, like many of the other benefits that came with mastering Elemental Magic, could prove to be infinitely useful, especially in recognising magical signatures, it also made her more susceptible to the emotions experienced by others, which, in turn, sometimes interfered with her judgement. She recognized the faint aura surrounding the woman like a dimmed halo. It was the same aura she sensed more forcefully around Noah. It was the energy of someone who had been in contact with spirits and the future for her entire life. Dismissing this thought and the curiosity that invariably came with it, she motioned her hand to put it on the woman's forehead but found that it was caught in a forceful grip. Like claws, frail hands took a hold of her wrist and with an unusual power they turned her hand, palm upside up. The woman's thin, wrinkled fingers traced the lines of her left palm and Hope fought the urge to vigorously release her hand from the grip.

"Your life is short, my dear" the raspy voice said, the woman's unfocused eyes staring blindly at the ceiling. "All that power coursing through your veins is for nought and you know why…"

An irrational sense of fear, probably streaming from her self-preservation instincts took a hold of the young lady. The aura surrounding the woman was becoming more and more intense, with every minute she held Hope's wrist in her grip. It was as if the frail old woman was feeding of the vigorous energy of the girl.

"Be quiet!" she ordered in a low growl, her blue eyes converting to a dangerous red.

"Your greatest strength is your greatest weakness. That will be your downfall…" the woman disregarded her words and said what she said with a malicious grin showing her decayed teeth.

"If you know what is good for you, you will be quiet or…" she muttered under her breath, trying to control the fury in her voice.

"Or what, my dear? I know what you came to do and I am not afraid. I can sense death hanging above your head, following you like a faithful pup… I wonder, how long will it take for it to consume you?" she said in a taunting voice and placed her free hand on the woman's marble white face, touching her features "You are so young and yet your soul seems so very old…"

"If you are not afraid, release my hand and let me do what I came here to do" Hope said calmly, trying to control the increasing wave of rage that was now forcefully invading her mind.

Hope felt the core of her magic shudder and tremble from both fear and the disturbance that the woman had created. Their energies, one as white as snow while the other as black as the night, tried to repel each other with the force of a small explosion. Feeling that she had the upper hand, mostly due to her youth and health, the Elemental Mistress focused her magic into something that resembled thin needles and tried with all her might to expel the parasitical force that was feeding of her power. Her eyes the deepest red, her nails digging into the wrinkled skin, she waited with baited breath and a rising feeling of panic to see what was going to happen.

"I might be blind, but I see things better than those who have sight. And what I now see is that you are the one who is afraid. You are afraid that my words might be right. You are afraid that I will guess your secret… You are afraid that I, a poor old blind lady, will see through the disguise you put on daily… " she said in a rough tone and to Hope's relief she released her wrist, feeling that she was fighting a loosing battle.

With a shuddering breath she staggered back and griped the dusty corner of a desk, her white knuckles becoming even whiter. What the old woman had said was true. She was afraid. She feared that her plan would fail, she feared that Evan would win, but most of all, she feared that she would lose the last traces of humanity she had left in the process. No one understood, not even Noah, the burden that had been placed on her shoulders by powers out of her control. For mere humans the magnitude of what she had to do on a daily basis was lost, and Hope was not only thinking about her involvement with death. To her mind, she was meant to be a guardian, a defender of the status quo while aiming to fulfil the wish of her ancestors. That role, which sometimes made her feel like the entire world was placed upon her shoulders, was the one that positioned a glass wall between herself and others and never allowed her to make more than limited contact with normal human beings. Noah had been an exception. He had been the one for whom she had allowed a small break in her armour, but even he had failed to comprehend the importance of who and what she was. And now, despite her better efforts, she felt like she was losing him more and more every day. She feared that and so many other things so what the old woman had said was true.

Hope's hand trembled and for the first time in her life she considered whether what she had been doing, her mission, the true essence of her existence was morally right. There were so many implications to what her purpose was, the fact that she was being doomed to take one soul after another being one of them. Probably the least important, truth be told. There were many things that no one apart from herself and maybe the shrivelled blind woman in front of her knew. Calming down and feeling the blue usual blue colour of her eyes return, she looked at her latest victim. The blind woman's stare was still unfocused, her face was contorted in a grimace and her frail chest rose and fell gently. Fighting back every single ounce of resentment she felt, Hope once again came close to the woman and placed her hand upon the clammy forehead giving her eternal release.

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><p>Amelia Cackle was not used to waking up in the dead of night, knowing that this habit was reserved to her thoroughly workaholic deputy. Yet, that particular day, for an unknown reason, maybe her cheese craving had been too much or maybe the miserable weather had finally gotten to her, her sleeping pattern suddenly changed and at four o'clock in the morning, the headmistress found herself in her crammed office, a steaming cup of tea in hand, pondering all the things she had to do when the girls and her staff woke up. Despite appearances, running the Academy was no walk in the park and the woman was well aware that she had a lot of paperwork and reports to tend to, together with surveying the changes in the curriculum proposed by the Witches Guild and reading the carefully formulated written notes and comments that Constance had made on their new student teacher's performance. In spite of all the things that were different, Amelia thought that life at Cackle's had regained some form of normality during the past week. Their new potions student teacher, despite her apprehension, had adjusted well to the life within the academy and no further incidents, apart from the one on her first day of teaching, had occurred. The third year girls seemed to respond well to her easy-going style and her almost non-existent discipline, relishing in the fact that Hope seemed to be confident in their abilities and awarded them a brand of trust with which they were not used to. Even Constance, although sceptical at first, appeared to somewhat accept the presence of the younger woman and have a limited amount of confidence in her ability. It also helped that during her first potions lesson the woman had given sufficient proof that she was more than able to handle any type of disaster that might occur, even if her flamboyant method of dealing with an exploding potion gave rise to some questions.<p>

Deciding that it was too early to delve into the Academy's business, Amelia quickly looked upon the mess of papers that was covering her small desk to find something to pass time. Under old records and piles of junk mail, the flashy new pamphlets and books that Dr Elwood had brought quickly caught her eye and with a trembling hand she extracted the carefully constructed package. Although he had explained, to the best of his abilities, what her deputy's condition and her duties as a caregiver involved, being as prudent as ever, Noah had decided to bring further material for the headmistress and the rest of the staff to study. Yet, like so many other things that were gracing her desk Amelia had ignored them, not because she was uninterested in what Constance was going through but because a part of her was afraid of what she was going to find out from those shiny impersonal pages. Deciding then was as good a time as any other, the head of the Academy took one of the small books at random and started to look at it intensely.

_End of life care in heart failure:__ framework for implementation_

As she was looking at the cover of the light book it wasn't the morbid title, which obviously implied a fatal dénouement, that caught her eye but the picture of an old man, obviously at the end of his natural life, trying to smile a toothless grin that did not reach his blue eyes covered by thickly-rimmed glasses, that stood beneath the title. She felt a sharp pang of pain not at how sad and withered he looked but at how old he was and how that contrasted in such a painful way with Constance's relative youth. Although Amelia was well aware that her deputy was no child, she usually associated this kind of disease with much older people. She barely admitted it to herself but she shuddered to think that one day Constance might look as frail and hopeless as the man on the cover of the small blue book.

_Despite therapeutic advances, heart failure remains a progressive, incurable and ultimately fatal long term condition which has a major effect on affected individuals and their families._

Once again, the fatalistic message sent by those words terrified her, not only because it talked of a terrible situation in which those who were sick and those close to them were put but also because it once again made it blatantly obvious that apart from her life in the academy, Constance had nothing else. In all the years she had known her deputy, Amelia had never dared to ask her about her family. As the woman never mentioned her mother, father or any siblings and usually spent her holidays behind the protective walls of Cackle's Academy, the headmistress supposed that any close relative she might have had was long gone from this world. When she had met Constance for the first time she had been the same as she was now, albeit almost fifteen years younger. She remembered clearly the day that the thin, tall young woman of twenty with her long hair in a bun and her face set in an unyielding strict expression, which did not match her years, entered her office. She had been conducting interviews for the recently opened position of Potions Teacher (the former one had retired at the venerable age of eighty four mostly because she was senile) and didn't exactly have many expectations from the candidates. Not being a school with prestige, the teachers that looked for positions at Cackle's were mildly competent at the best of times. She was about to settle for an older lady who had just finished sending her eight child to Weird Sister College when Constance walked in and asked whether the position was still available. What struck the headmistress back then wasn't her impressive and impeccable resume but the look of utter sadness that the younger woman tried to hide behind an impassive façade. She looked like a lost and scared child and Amelia knew instantly that for Miss Hardbroom Cackle's was a lifeline. She instinctively knew that not giving the recently graduated potions teacher the available position would be like killing her with her own two hands.

_Recognition that end of life care does not stop at the point of death._

Doctor Elwood had been reluctant to give a prognosis for Constance and the way in which her disease progressed, but Amelia knew at the bottom of her heart that the future wasn't exactly bright for her. She wondered for a second if Constance had any preference for any funeral rituals. It was an awful thought and she wished nothing better than to discard it but in the light of what was happening it was impossible to put aside such practical matters. As pedantic and pragmatic as her deputy was, she knew for certain that she had thought of the same matters herself. Amelia wondered for a second who, apart from the staff, would come to the funeral if it was to come to that. She knew that her deputy, under the cold exterior she showed to the world, was a caring person who was capable of the warmest feelings towards those around her. Sadly, very few people took time to look behind the perfectly placed mask and get to truly know the deputy.

_Death may __occur at a time of crisis, even when being transported to hospital or in the A & E department._

Despite being one of the most morbid things she had ever read in her life, that last phrase was the one that made the woman truly acknowledge the dire situation they were confronted with. She had known that the death of her deputy was a possibility, but seeing written, black on white made her realize that it was something she could expect. No. It was something she needed to expect and be mentally prepared for.

Upon noticing that the light was on at an hour which was strictly reserved for her, Constance entered the headmistress' office and was surprised to see the older woman bent over a book of some sort, a deep look of anguish clearly written on her wrinkled face. For the first time in the fifteen years she had known the woman, Amelia seemed old and defeated. Soundlessly, Constance approached the headmistresses' desk and closed the object that was provoking such sorrow. As she had a copy of her own, she easily recognised the thin book that Miss Cackle was reading and understood the cause of that intense turmoil. Amelia raised her head and looked at Constance with unshed tears in her eyes. She knew that her deputy would probably abhor such weakness and would thoroughly blame herself for being the cause of it, but she could no longer contain the wave of empathy that was threatening to come crushing out in the form of salty tears. Trying to stop her treacherous eyes from showing her grief, she watched her much too young deputy's impassable face as she read the title of the pamphlet without showing any kind of emotion.

"You don't deserve this…" Amelia whispered softly before she could stop herself. At that precise moment, showing neither fear nor distress, Constance seemed even more impressive than usual.

"No one gets what they deserve. Whatever we get, be it good or bad, we find a way to cope with it. It is the way in which we cope that matters…" Miss Hardbroom replied, a fait trace of an encouraging smile gracing her pale, ghost-like features.

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><p>While they were trying to stir their potions counter-clockwise and were listening to Miss Hawthorne's soft, low voice, Maud and Enid alternatively cast worried glances towards Mildred. It had been more than a week since the nightmare incident and their friend still seemed somewhat out of sorts. What was worse was that instead of coming to them and asking for help, she was more aloof than ever. They had know her for almost three years and during all the adventures, dangerous or not, that they had been trough, Mildred had always been the one to be open about what she thought or felt, knowing that her two best friends, together with Ruby and Jadu, had her back. Yet now, she progressively locked her emotions up, looking as if she was afraid to share them and the two girls did not understand why. Of course, her actions during that night, hugging HB and having a nightmare she remembered nothing about were strange to say the least. But no matter how confused Millie was, the two girls still thought that she should have come to them and that together they would have sorted the problem.<p>

"I still think we should talk to someone about it…" Maud said whispered softly, looking towards Mildred in an inconspicuous fashion

"We've been through this before, if Mille doesn't want to say anything, we can't force her…She will come out of it, eventually" Enid replied in the same low voice, frustration clear in her tone.

"Enid, my room is right next to hers. I hear her crying every night!" the other girl responded in an exasperated voice, knowing that despite appearances Enid did understand the seriousness of the situation.

"And who do you want to tell?" Enid whispered while throwing her friend worried looks.

"I don't know… An adult. Maybe one of the teachers"

"And what exactly do you think they will do? Miss Drill is too caught up with her new boyfriend to care, Miss Bat is bonkers, Miss Cackle will talk a lot but do little and HB has been looking like death warmed over for weeks. I think she will break into pieces if we go to her with further problems. Plus, if Mille doesn't want to talk to us, what makes you think she would talk to any of them? " Enid turned to face Maud and replied softly, failing to notice that Ethel was discretely turned towards their friend's cauldron and was softly muttering under her breath. Had any of them been more careful they would have avoided the start of a series of events that would change certain lives forever.

When she cast a Boiling Spell on Mildred's cauldron making her potion inflate and blow up, Ethel Hallow merely thought that she was playing a harmless prank on the person she had come to regard as her arch enemy. She couldn't have known what dire long term consequences her actions would have. She couldn't have known that such a silly prank would put them into a situation that would make them almost wish for death. A few days after, when she looked back on the chain of events that the simple spell had triggered she could remember the greenish potion boil, Maud and Enid jump like lionesses next to their friend and try to stop the cauldron from exploding while throwing accusations and mild hexes towards her. She could recall that, in a fit of anger, she had retaliated and that Mildred's exploding potion had been once again stopped by a brilliant circle of red flames.

Hope absolutely despised mornings feeling way more productive in the dead of the night. Maybe if it wouldn't have been nine o'clock in the morning she would have reacted differently and she would have avoided putting their lives in danger. Yet, at that particular moment, when she was tired, stressed and angry at the immaturity of the girls she thought that putting them in detention in the potion lab later in the evening was the right thing to do. She couldn't have predicted what would happen in the future. No one could have.

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><p>Before going back into the bedroom of one of his multiple houses, Evan Mallard entered his office and opened the second to last drawer of the dark oak desk. There, with the easiness of well-practiced moves he extracted the object he was looking for. He had kept the picture frame and the photo on a whim and hadn't looked at it in years. Yet, now, because of certain events, thoroughly suppressed memories began plaguing him, and he felt the urge to look at it again. From the confines of the silver picture frame, a young girl smiled at him, her long black hair being blown by the wind. He was well aware that he wasn't a kind and gentle man. He knew that his first impulses would always be of a cruel and merciless nature, but a long time ago he had met a woman for whom he had been willing to alter that. For her he had been willing to change and become a better person. But she had left him. And when she left to walk on her path, so very different from his, she had taken away the last trace of kindness from his soul. He looked at the photo and felt a mixture of disgust, at his own weakness, of regret, at what had happened and, to his surprise, of undiminished love. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he carefully placed the frame back in its drawer and walked towards the bed where his newest conquest was waiting for him.<p>

"Anything new at Cackle's "Evan said in a falsely cheerful tone and caressed the tan skin, playfully kissing a naked thigh

"Nothing much. You know the usual things going on… Oh, we do have a new potion student teacher… " she said carelessly, light-heartedly biting his earlobe

"Really… And how is this new teacher like? " he asked in the same apparently careless manner, his heart beating forcefully in his chest.

"Oh… you would like her, she is very pretty… " Imogen said tauntingly relishing in the way in which he stroked her thigh

"Is she?" he purred softly, trying to hide his interest.

"Yes… She looks like a model or a Hollywood actress…" Imogen continued her mock-jealous act while Evan kept kissing her neck and arms. "If I think a bit about it, she kind of reminds me of you…"

"Does she?" he asked genuinely surprised as being told that he was similar to Hope was something that rarely happened. " How come?"

"It's just the air that she has about her… it's mysterious and aristocratic. And she knows how to be pleasant and polite without getting too close to people. You do that too" she felt his hands stop for a second and wondered if maybe what she had said had been wrong.

"I do? I've never noticed" he feigned disinterest.

"Yes, you do. The first time that I met you, despite the fact that I took an instant liking to you, and that you were so polite and pleasant, you were rather cold. As if you were afraid to let people in… Are you?" she suddenly asked in a serious voice

"What?" he asked slightly defensively

"Afraid to let people come into your life…" Imogen explained wanting to know more about the man that had come into her life so very suddenly

"My pet, I believe we have better things to do than engage in a full-blown psychoanalysis" he smoothly change the subject, a sly grin lighting up his features. "Now… where did I put the whipped cream?"

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><p>Noah took a deep breath and entered the now familiar room in Cackle's Academy. While he was more than happy to have a respite from having to deal with the issues his mother had, the entire charade was beginning to become bothersome for him for one sole reason. During his school years and his internship he had met both girls and women but had never managed to get romantically involved, past the physical point, with any of them. Only two women, who were not his mother, had managed to have a claim on the doctor's affections. The first one was Hope. The second one was, as surprising as it may sound as the time they had spent together had been limited, Constance Hardbroom.<p>

At first, he suspected that whatever emotion he sensed whenever he was around the stern woman, was because she was the first patient, beside his mother, he had treated in such a long time. Furthermore, having such a connection with Hope and all that was at stake because of that connection invariably endeared her to him and made him wish for the best to happen. Yet, at a closer analysis of his feelings, Noah knew that there was much more. He was attracted to her not because of the circumstances they both found themselves into but because of who she was as a person. In the little time they had spent together, he had managed to see behind the stern, stoic mask she put on every day. He had seen the true Constance Hardbroom, the kind, fragile, vulnerable woman who wished the world for others and so little for herself.

Already used to what had become almost routine, the potions mistress sat on her bed and opened the top buttons of her black dress. While before she would have been positively horrified at the prospect of a man being in her private room, let alone touching her, due to Dr Elwood's frequent check-ups she not only got used to his presence but also felt a tremble of emotion and trepidation whenever she was with him. With sure hands he placed his doctor's bag on the floor, took a stethoscope and sat next to her, gently motioning the woman to turn. His manly, big, rough hands seemed so very gentle whenever they approached her and placed the cold item on her skin, as if he was handling a precious object, maybe a porcelain doll, and did not want to break it.

As he listened to the faint beats of her heart, he looked into her deep dark eyes that had come to haunt his dreams almost every night. It was the worst possible scenario for he knew that firstly, it would do doctors little good to be attached to patients, and secondly because he felt like he was betraying Hope. Although the thought of a romantic involvement with the younger woman had barely crossed his mind when he had first met her, in the same why that it strikes any normal male upon seeing a fairly attractive woman, he knew that he was, to some extent, deceiving her trust and endangering the friendship that they had. Hope had never been straightforward with him about her powers, her mission or the ring business, but he had managed to read between the lines and he knew that no matter what her motives were, the woman's interest in the Academy in general and in Constance Hardbroom in particular were more than important. He didn't wish to be the one who involuntarily interfered with her plans for he knew that while she appeared gentle and kind, Hope could also be vengeful and cruel if one got in her way. Yet, ever since they came to Cackle's a surge of rebellion had been rising in his chest and he felt less and less inclined to go forward with whatever his friend asked of him. He wanted to know more, he wanted have the answers he deserved. Still he knew that even if he plucked up the courage to ask her, Hope would smile her sweet half-smile and would give a vague response.

Not knowing what possessed him, he inclined his head and moved his face towards her. This was so unlike his usually less than impulsive character, but the woman facing him stirred so many emotions that were unknown to him and were almost uncontainable. With gentleness he did not know he had, he softly pressed his lips to hers and could feel her otherwise straight posture relax slightly. It wasn't a long or passionate kiss. The way in which their lips met was more like a greeting, like a beginning, like an acceptance from both parts. As if stunned by what had happened, she allowed him to take her hand and kiss it with the same sense of respect which bordered on veneration. He bowed his head, as if in shame, not meeting her dark eyes instead choosing to focus his attention to the hard wood floor, and she looked at the unruly mess of brown curls with a strange sense of affection. With the gracefulness only she possessed, she lifted her pale left hand and allowed her fingers tangle themselves in his brown hair. Constance could feel her heart beat wildly against her ribs and a wave of heat raise to her otherwise pale complexion. She did not know what to make of what had happened, she did not know if she was ready for something like this to happen. All that she knew was that she liked the feeling of his soft hair against her fingertips and didn't feel the need to retrieve her hand or to break their awkward embrace.

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><p>With her distant, cold stare unbroken Hope would have seemed as the picture of nonchalance, looking at the gloomy courtyard of Overblow castle, had she not been standing as stiff as a plank of wood. She did not mean to enter Noah's mind or once again invade his privacy in such a way, but the wave of pure emotion akin to nothing she had ever felt in her entire life, hit her with full force and it scared her. She had known Noah for so long that she knew that he wasn't the kind of man to get easily attached to women and the fact that this particular woman stirred such feelings troubled her to no end. Not because she didn't want him to be happy. Not because she was afraid of losing his loyalty and devotion. Because she knew he would invariably be hurt.<p>

As she was only teaching the third year girls, Hope had a lot of time on her hands which she spent getting to know the staff of the Academy and pondering her actions. During her first week masquerading as a potions teacher, she had tried to make both the staff and the students like her as much as possible, not because she had any qualms with being disliked by people but because she was realistic enough to know that they could be useful allies in whatever course of action she needed to take. She had seen them all and had, to some degree, liked them all despite their quirks. All but one. She wasn't the kind of person to easily have any type of feelings towards others, but as she analyzed each of them and saw them interact in their environment she immediately decided that she would never, ever like or truly be friends with the deputy. Of course, she needed to form a connection with her and for that to happen she needed the woman to trust her. Hope put on sweet smiles and spoke with the woman feigning the upmost respect when inside she hated her, not because the woman had done anything to her, but because of who she was and what she represented.

Constance watched with an impassive look on her face as the new addition to Cackle's staff stood in the middle of the staff room with feigned nonchalance. She did not know what to make of the girl. On the one hand, the girl had a sweet air about her and offered everyone a kind word or a smile. As if she knew, or at least she suspected, the situation she found herself in, Hope made a special effort to be extra nice to the stoic Miss Hardbroom and the potions mistress had to admit that if the girl was dishonest, she was an amazing actress. No matter how hard she looked, the deputy could not find any trace of falsity in what the younger woman had said or did during her time at Cackle's. On the other hand, there was the matter of the woman's incriminating hands. That, coupled with her apparent friendliness and sincerity, together with the fact that the girls seemed to have taken to her, unnerved and worried Constance to no end.

"Have you ever been in love, Miss Hardbroom?" the girl's clear voice was heard from next to her and Constance faced the younger woman surprised that the girl had heard her enter and had known that she was there, not knowing how to answer such a personal question. Despite herself, Constance felt her face flush slightly, what had happened with Noah coming to her mind involuntarily. Hope noticed the slight coloration of the woman's cheeks and for the first time in a week her eyes had lost their warmth and turned as cold as ice.

"I see…" Hope muttered softly under her breath, her words eluding the teacher. With a polite nod of her head and her marble-like features set into a falsely benevolent smile, she turned on her heels and left the staff room in a hurry, leaving a confused Constance behind.

* * *

><p>From her first week as a pretence potions teacher, Hope decided that being an educator was no easy business and her respect for all those that worked as teachers increased exponentially with every lesson she tried to teach. It wasn't that the girls were unruly or did not pay attention, on the contrary. They did seem to be quite taken to her. The problem lay in the fact that she had to find a way to make whatever she said as interesting as possible, mostly because she did not want to spoil her cover as a dedicated potions teacher, especially as the dour potion mistress seemed to slowly, but surely, come to form a connection with her. That together with her worries regarding the developing relationship between Miss Hardbroom and Noah and the stress of performing her usual duties had rendered, for the first time in a long while, the young woman tired.<p>

Through a quick SMS she had asked Noah to meet her at Cosy's not only because she was in a dire need of coffee that wasn't already cold by the time it got to her but also because she wanted to confront her friend on his actions and feelings. Truth be told she felt angry and betrayed and seeing the doctor's calm, peaceful smile didn't exactly do anything to quiet down her worries.

"How's it going?"

"I didn't kill anyone yet, so I guess everything is going all right…" she answered in all seriousness, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You are angry" Noah stated simply, noticing the way in which her hand trembled with rage as she took the coffee cup and raised it to her lips

"Why would I be angry?" she answered in the same mocking tone, feigning ignorance

"You know" he replied with the same nonchalance "Don't even pretend that you don't, because I could feel you"

"Then why do you ask me pointless questions?" she rhetorically asked, trying to contain the feeling of pure rage that was coursing through her veins

"Are you jealous?" Noah rose his green eyes from his cup and met her blue ones

"Don't be a fool" she snapped "Why would I be jealous?"

"You wouldn't. That's why I don't understand your reaction. As my friend, you should be happy rather than angry" he said in the same low monotone and watched Hope take a long calming breath.

"As your friend I have the right to be concerned" she replied in a much calmer voice "I don't want you to get hurt, Noah"

"Why would I get hurt, Hope?" he rose his eyebrows, his eyes questioning his friend.

"You know why…" she answered bitterly lowering her eyes, not standing his almost accusing stare

"The problem is that I don't. You always expect me to go along with your schemes and you never bother explaining more than half the things that you have to do… So tell me, Hope: why will I get hurt?" he allowed his tone to raise slightly, repressed feelings of irritation clear in his low voice

"I wish I could…" she muttered almost inaudibly

"You don't trust me…" his eyes widened in realization and he looked at the person he had considered his best friend for more than ten years in a new light. For a moment which seemed like an eternity, Hope looked like when he had first met her; a cold, aloof person who played with human life for her own amusement. A person that he had no desire of knowing.

"As you are now? No. I don't trust you" she answered honestly. She raised her eyes and could clearly see the magnitude of her words written on his shocked features. When he abruptly stood up, threw some money on the table to cover the bill and promptly left the café, she did not bother to stop him. Instead she continued to sip her bitter coffee looking into the distance that wasn't there.

* * *

><p>Davina Bat was by nature a person who sought happiness for both herself and others around her, and the highest form of happiness, according to the chanting teacher was being romantically involved with a special someone. One such person was her new acquaintance, whose careless kind character made her endearing and who she had easily come to see as a friend. In what she thought to be a discrete manner, she had asked Hope on countless occasions, during their casual chats in the staff room, about whether she had a special person in her life or not and the girl's negative answer saddened her greatly. Being gifted with the overacting imagination of an artist, Davina saw the young addition to Cackle's staff much in the same way she used to regard Constance: like a mystic beauty who could render men powerless at her feet. Of course, it also helped that, unlike the fearsome deputy, the girl seemed to be warm and open to affection. As such, she had derived the greatest pleasure from discovering her newest friend being in the company of a certain doctor.<p>

As she entered the staff room, softly singing to herself, Davina almost forgot that she had missed her weekly treat of Cosy cream buns in favour of allowing the two a certain amount of privacy. The chanting teacher entered the room, frilly dress swirling about her and beaming smile lighting up the old features. The only other occupant of the room stood in her trademark straight manner at her desk and tried to focus her attention on some papers in front of her. Although Constance was quite busy with her own thoughts, which mostly revolved about what had passed earlier between herself and Noah, she could not help but notice the gaiety with which her colleague had come in. Even if Miss Bat was as random as the weather at the best of times, it was quite strange for her to openly display that magnitude of joy for apparently no reason. It was as if the woman begged to be asked.

"May I ask why you are so very happy, Miss Bat?" Constance indulged her in a dour fashion, dearly hoping that the other teacher would not launch into a story about flowers or birds or Mongolian chants.

"I just so the most wonderful thing…" Davina said in her sing-song voice, playing with the frills of her blouse

"Which is?" Constance's low, impatient tone contrasted powerfully with that of her artistic counterpart but it didn't seem to deter the joy of the other woman.

"It seems that love is blooming in the heart of our newest friend…" Miss Bat declared with passion and was disappointed to see Constance raise a questioning eyebrow "I just saw Hope in the company of Doctor Elwood in Cosy's and they looked so comfortable together. I saw the look in his eyes, he looked at her with such admiration and adoration…"

Davina dragged on and on, explaining what she had seen but Constance was no longer listening to her. Once again, she felt betrayed by her own mind and heart. She was supposed to be indifferent to whatever Dr Elwood did. There were no promises between them, there was nothing to bind them, there was little, apart from what had happened that morning, to recommend that a bond was forming. As such, she was surprised to feel her heart constrict painfully at the thought of Noah and the new student teacher in a potential liaison. In the swirl of emotions that was engulfing her she did not even stop to ponder how suspicious it was that the two even knew each other. She couldn't think of that for, in a rare show of self doubt, she could only consider all the ways in which the younger woman was different to her. Of course he had chosen her. She was young and beautiful. Full of life and healthy. Had impeccable style and an air of confidence and arrogance that suited her just right. In short, she was everything that Constance was not, and despite her wishes to be the better person, she could not help but resent the girl for it.

"Is Hope going to take the detention of the third year girls, or should I go?" Imogen entered the room and asked hastily, not noticing the almost compact waves of anger and disappointment coming from the deputy.

"Why do they have detention?" Constance snapped, being furious at herself for not knowing. It felt like everything that was happening was dulling her senses and made her careless.

"They blew up a couple of cauldrons in potions as a prank… " Imogen answered dismissingly and Constance could feel once again a cloud of guilt engulf her.

She had planned on countless times to discuss Hope's apparently lax authority and utter lack of concern for safety but she had allowed herself to get distracted and never mentioned anything. The fact that once again the girl had been unable to avoid an incident worried her to no end and although she rationally knew that it wasn't her fault , Constance felt like it was her duty to talk with the young student teacher. Miss Hawthorne's carefree nature together with her benevolent character had endeared her to every member of the staff and had dulled the suspicions that the deputy herself had. Now, when once again she had put the safety of her students on the line, Miss Hardbroom's initial suspicions returned full force and the woman felt entitled to manifest her rage. As she quietly exited the staff room and made her way towards the potions laboratory, Constance realized that maybe the girls' disregard for safety wasn't the only thing that made her want to show some form of authority and superiority towards her. Never in a million years would she admit it to anyone, not even herself, but part of her need streamed from what she had heard from Davina about the student teacher and Doctor Elwood.

* * *

><p>Mildred took a moment to steady herself and gather her thoughts before knocking on the dark wooden door. She had thought long and hard before she had come to the conclusion that the new potions teacher could explain what was happening to her and that she could be trusted to keep everything in the strictest confidence. True enough, Miss Hawthorne had only been in the academy for a week and under normal circumstances that would not be enough for Millie to trust this person. But this woman was different. She emanated a certain sense of truthfulness and easy confidence that not only made her likable but also made her feel approachable. Of course, the student had thought about asking for explanations from the other members of the staff but, no matter how hard she twisted and turned the various possibilities, the new potions teacher was still the optimal variant. Going to Miss Drill, even if she would lend a compassionate ear, would be, for obvious reasons, positively useless. Miss Bat would probably praise her talent and unnecessarily fuss about it. Miss Cackle would give a long boring lecture about magical powers and responsibility but offer no real explanation, because, Mildred suspected, she did not have one. No. To get some valuable information about something that even Cackle's extensive library did not cover, she needed a powerful, well-versed witch. She needed HB. Miss Hardbroom, although not the most understanding person in the world, was indubitably the most knowledgeable witch she knew and she was pretty certain that she could have helped her. Yet, after what had happened during the night she had the nightmare she could remember nothing about, Mildred was reluctant to go face her form mistress. Thus, by process of elimination, she settled on talking to Miss Hawthorne before they had their scheduled detention with her. Although she hadn't known her long, the woman inspired a certain amount of trust and she could clearly see that she was a powerful and capable witch.<p>

A shy knock on the wooden door dispelled the gloomy silence of the room and Hope rose her head from the third year Advanced Potions Textbook. Even if she wasn't too fond of her room in the Academy when she had returned from Cosy's, Hope had gone back to it to get some peace and quiet before the detention she needed to supervise. She had been thinking about her conversation with Noah and was well aware that she had been too harsh to him. The woman only hoped that she would be able to repair the harm done to their relationship by this incident.

"Come in!" she answered calmly and saw Mildred's tall frame enter the room, with a subdued and shy air about her "How can I help you, Mildred?"

"It's about what you said last week in class… about my drawing" she said in a meek voice and the face of the young teacher offered an encouraging smile.

"What about that, Mildred?" she said calmly, knowing where the conversation was going, thousands of questions running at the speed of lightning through her mind.

"Well, you said that it looked like it was going to leap off the page and come to life…" the student followed uncertainly

"Yes… "

"The thing is, Miss Hawthorne, I… My drawings… they do come to life…" here it was. She had said it and watched her new teacher's face for any sign that she considered her a raving lunatic.

"They do?" she said with a pleasant smile, as if the woman was expecting Mildred to say what she just said.

"Yes… and I was wondering if you knew why…" Mildred followed relived not only that the woman didn't seem to think she was mad but also that she seemed to believe her. Quietly, she showed her teacher the moving drawing of Tabby and her eyes widened slightly.

Hope took a deep breath, motioned Mildred to sit on one of the rickety old chairs, took out a cigarette from the white package on the nightstand, conjured an ashtray and lit it effortlessly with a wave of her hand. She had told herself many times that she would not allow this particular habit to become one of her more current ones, but ever since she had met the brave old man whose soul she had taken, she found that she took comfort in having a couple of cigarettes in her stressful moments. Despite appearing to be a normal, calm conversation between a student and a teacher this definitely qualified as one of those uneasy moments that required a cigarette. Hope knew, or better said, suspected why Mildred was able to make her drawings come to life but she did not know whether it would be prudent or not to reveal the true reason to the girl. On one hand, the student seemed to be a loyal and sweet girl who had the potential to be a useful ally. On the other hand, revealing such knowledge to someone so very young and whose allegiances were not exactly set in stone could prove dangerous. With a slow drag of the burning cigarette she made her mind to offer a censored version of the story.

"Do you know what magic is made of, Mildred?" she asked calmly and the girl shook her head "Magic, or rather magical energy, is a product of the four primordial elements: Air, Fire, Earth and Water. It is because of these forces that magic as we know it today exist. They come together in an unbroken balance to form the magical core in a witch or wizard." The student nodded her head in understanding and with a smile Hope followed her explanation "Even if a magical person or being has all four elements within themselves and they come together rather than manifest by themselves, some special witches or wizards have an affinity towards a particular element and its proprieties and are able to use it in its purest form"

"Like you have towards Fire?" she deduced, understanding how the woman was able to produce those impressive flames and protect them from the two exploding potions.

"Precisely" she answered, omitting the fact that for her it was more than a mere affinity towards that particular element and that, normally there should have been only two people in the entire world that were able to control the purest form of the Elements.

"What does this have to do with my drawings?" Millie asked shyly

"I will get to that in a second. As I said, there are witches and wizards that have an affinity towards an Element and are able to use it in its untamed, unaltered form. Also, there are those who borrow the characteristics of their affinity and have a power which is slightly… unusual. Each of the four primordial Elements represents something both metaphorically and in nature. For example, Fire has always been used as a symbol of cleansing, of retribution and of purification. It is an element that both destroys and protects. It is the element of transformation. Earth is a symbol for worldly matters, matters of the flesh. It governs the world of humans, who according to lore are all made of clay. Air is the element of spiritual matters, of matters of the mind. Thoughts pass through our minds much in the same way that clouds pass on the sky; bore by air. It is also an element associated with giving life and with creation. And then there is Water, an element which governs emotions like empathy, love and compassion. Like Fire is connected to the Sun, Water is also connected to the Moon and because of that they are polar opposites both in their natures and in their purposes…" Hope refrained from telling her just how important those elements wore and what the man that managed to wield them all was capable of. Even if Mildred had been able to understand her, which she seriously doubted, she didn't need to be burdened with such dangerous knowledge.

"I am sorry, Miss Hawthorne, but I don't really understand what this has to do with my drawings…" the student said softly

"Well, maybe I didn't explain it well enough or maybe you didn't pay attention, it doesn't matter… Wasn't I telling you about an element that governs life and matters of the mind?" the pretence teacher scolded mildly and the girl's eyes widened in realization.

"Air?" she whispered softly, her eyes looking at the now still drawing of Tabby she had brought with her.

"Yes, Mildred…I believe, no, I am almost certain, that you have the power to manipulate the powers of Air…" she said softly, her eyes gleaming in satisfaction.

Hope had thought it to be impossible. Of course, she had read the legends passed down from generation to generation but she had never thought it to be true. Few of the people who had an interest in the occult and in magic had heard the lore of the old man who had split his power among his children and had created the four Elemental Masters. Even fewer knew that these four siblings fought among themselves and that the Master of Water gained Air while the Master of Fire gained Earth. And she was sure that only two people, Evan and herself, had heard that apparently, before his death, the master of Air had fathered a child who was the true heir to his mystical element. And yet, the living proof of the truthfulness of what she had believed to be merely an old wife's tale stood right in front of her, her eyes wide in surprise and her hands shakings slightly. The only weakness that the Master of Water had, the only one who, by right of blood, could deprive him of the powers of Air, stood before her eyes shocked that for once she was special.

* * *

><p>At dusk, Overblow Castle painted a terrifying shape on the reddish shy. With its pointed towers and ample shape, it looked like a dormant giant ready to attack. Evan took a deep breath, and prepared himself for what he was going to do. He had been thinking about it for quite some time and decided that now that Hope had come in contact with the woman she was looking for, it was unavoidable. He had found the curse in one of the ancient tomes of his library and he knew that it was one of the few spells that could only be cast by him and him alone. No matter how hard she tried Hope would not be able to stop it for it was part of his ancestral heritage.<p>

Raising his hands, his eyes shining a brilliant white colour, he invoked the ancient powers whose heir he was and saw how a white glow engulfing Overblow Castle. When the building seemed to absorb the magic, he wiped the beads of sweat formed on his forehead and took a moment to look at his handiwork. No one would believe him, but he was genuinely sorry. He didn't know how many would be caught in the charm's web, it strictly depended on the number of people that Hope was with when the curse took effect. He wished there weren't that many for he knew that some of them would pay the ultimate price for merely being in her presence.

He wasn't a particularly religious man. In fact, he hardly believed in the existence of a God. Yet, at that exact moment, he raised a prayer to the heavens. Maybe, just maybe, someone will hear it and he will be forgiven.

* * *

><p>When the deputy head of the academy had entered the classroom, Hope instinctively knew that the woman was positively furious and wanted nothing better than throttle her with her bare hands. After all, it was under her watch that the girls had managed, for the second time in a week to wreak havoc in the potions lab with an explosion. In her defence and in a rare show of authority, she had given the culprits, or better said, all those involved, namely Ethel, Maud, Enid and Mildred a detention which, when the woman came frothing, she was in the process of supervising. Furthermore, she also felt that she had been too harsh with the girls, assigning them to both clean the laboratory until it was returned to its original state and also write an extensive essay about the need to be careful while mixing potions and the perils of trying to sabotage your class mates' concoction. In her view, Hope thought that she had handled the situation well, but judging by the murderous glare in Miss Hardbroom's , the woman had a different opinion.<p>

"Miss Hawthorne, can we have a quiet word?" Constance said glacially, her tone dangerously low and authoritarian. She had known from the first day that the girl might be a danger for the students and that she might be unable to control them properly, but honestly, how incapable could she be to allow two explosions of that magnitude happen in the span of a week.

"Girls, you can finish your essays in your own time… You are dismissed." Hope said calmly, not exactly appreciating the harsh tone that was being directed at her and noticing that the four students were already throwing the two women interested looks.

Constance watched how the girls quietly gathered their things, sensing danger brewing in the air and were now throwing sympathetic looks towards the student teacher. She gently tapped her fingers against the wooden desk waiting for them to get out of the classroom to start her tirade. The woman towards whom her anger was directed, leaned calmly in her seat, legs crossed and was showing a growing interest in her perfectly manicured red nails. Yet another point that Constance was going to have to bring forth in their discussion.

"Miss Hardbroom? Miss Hawthorne? We can't open the door…" Maud's voice said shyly, her hand on the handle, pushing it furiously as if to demonstrate her words.

Hope looked up from her nails with a mocking stare, a slight smile gracing her thin lips and Constance sighed softly under her breath, and moved in long strides towards the door. Why was everyone around her so very incompetent? How could these girls be expected to become university-level witches in less than two years, if they were unable to open a door? She made her way through the four students and forcefully pushed the handle with no result. Several attempts later, she realized that Maud was right. The door was locked.

* * *

><p>Author's Note:<p>

What do you say? Was it worth the wait? I am so proud of myself for writing a (hopefully interesting) chapter in which HB isn't coughing up blood, fainting, dying of exhaustion…etc. I don't know if I ever mentioned this, but despite appearances I truly love Constance and I only make her suffer for the greater good (not exactly certain what the greater good is, probably your entertainment, but I am sure there is one). Anyway, if you want to comment on something / ask questions / yell at me for being so very late / or just randomly talk about stuff, feel free to contact me either through reviews or private messaging. I will reply to you as soon as possible.

_Next Chapter: An old friend comes to Cackle's, Hope and Constance realize just how bad their situation is while the other staff members are doing everything in their power to help the two women and the four students. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:**

Dear reader,

Once again I am well aware of how long I took to update but I need you to trust me when I say that there are a lot of things going on at the moment and that I will do my best in the future to be more prompt with my updates.

To all those who have reviewed my story thus far, **Chrissiemusa****,****HB****rules**, **Princess****Sammi,****chocomoon,****Aleksandra****Hardbroom**and **melissa****Ivory**, a big THANK YOU and I hope you will not be disappointed with this latest chapter,

Once again I need to knowledge my dear friend, **NextChristineDaae,**without whom this chapter wouldn't have happened.

Yours faithfully,

Lemondrop

* * *

><p><strong>FIRE AND ICE <strong>

**BOOK I: THE WIELDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR**

**Chapter****8:** **Of ****course ****you ****don't ****die.****Nobody ****dies.****Death ****doesn't ****exist.****You ****only ****reach ****a ****new ****level ****of ****vision, ****a ****new ****realm ****of ****consciousness, ****a ****new ****unknown ****world. **_(__Henry__Miller__)_

**Day 1**

_**Evan**\e-van\ as a boy's name,is pronounced EV-an. It is of Hebrew,Welsh and Scottish origin,and the meaning of Evan is "God is gracious ;born of yew ; youth"_

The Bible is the ultimate best seller. It has everything that a novel should have to be successful: it has drama, it has action, it has multiple self-sacrificing heroes, and by beautifully combining the supernatural element with human nature it sends a message which has appealed to the masses for centuries. This does not necessarily mean that whatever is contained within it is true. It merely means that its content is popular. Yet, let's operate on the idea that maybe, just maybe, what is written within is based, at least partially, on fact. We are told that god created Adam out of dirt, and made him look like him, and that then he took one of Adam's ribs and created Eve. Instead of having, if one were to abide by the laws of nature, a clay figurine and afterwards an inanimate piece of flesh, he managed to create two fully fledged humans. Quite extraordinary, don't you think? This begs the question: how do you really make a human being? Is it a prescribed recipe? Do you add two cups of water to a mound of dirt and start modelling? Maybe pray afterwards to whatever divinity to give life to the recently created figure? Surely it cannot be that. In spite of the simplistic way in which the creation of man tends to be described by most religions, the process is so much more complex, so much more beautiful. Whether one believes in the new-age theory of Intelligent Design, in Creationism or in Darwinism, one needs to admit that there is a lot of luck involved in creating a human. To achieve the perfect blend, to make more than a clay figure, you need something else. You need a soul. You need a spark of magic. You need to be god.

There has never been any scientific proof that a soul exists. No matter how hard they tried, no matter how many corpses they dissected, doctors never managed to find the soul, the spirit of a human being. Yet, the man clad in white that looked upon the dark, desolate place he found himself in, didn't need a proof to be sure that within the human body there was something more than flesh and blood. That was one of the many certainties he possessed and despite the fact that he usually regarded such extra knowledge as a blessing, he couldn't help but feel that maybe his actions would have been far more excusable had he not possessed this particular bit of information. Like every human being he had free reign upon his actions and was prepared to face the consequences. He just did not expect the consequences of a mere moment of rage, of thoughtlessness and a short incantation would be so far reaching. God gave Adam and Eve free will not because he was vindictive and wanted them to screw up, but because he trusted them not to. As he observed the desolate sadness that surrounded him, Evan was sure that he had betrayed this particular brand of confidence.

He knew that the circumstances that lead to the apparently fatalistic action he had decided to undertake weren't entirely of his own making. He knew that the world functions because of a vague concept of cosmic balance. Black is the absence of colour, while White is the summation of all colours. Without Good there hardly is any Evil. Without day there would be no night. Without kindness there would be no cruelty. Without the concept of old, the idea of new would hardly make any sense. They are antonyms, conflicting concepts and notions but their existence is validated, rather than disproved, by their opposition. They neither can exist without the other, and Evan feared that when he had decided to use his ultimate trump card against Hope, he had somewhat disturbed the frail balance of the world. After all, she represented his very own conflicting concept.

He took a deep breath and cleaned his white robe of invisible specks of dust, while his white eyes, in which his equally white irises were barely defined, took in the hollow surroundings. When he had been young he had been ignorant enough to try to define, to categorize the place. He had wanted to know whether he could label it as either Heaven or Hell. It had taken him a while to understand that this place, one he could only visit in spirit, was neither. That it was so much more and so much less. He had taken to calling it The Otherworld. This was the place where the true nature of man showed itself in its purest form and retribution reigned free. This was a place for penitence and cleansing whose very core was woven by Hope's bright red flames. This was the place that now was desolate and broken because of what he had done.

There was an eerie kind of silence surrounding him and he dared to look at the black lake on whose mouldy shore he was staying. The fact that in a place where Fire reigned, existed a massive accumulation of Water was the ultimate cosmic joke and a further proof that no matter how hard they tried to deny it, their very own existence was interdependent. The clear blue water did not reflect the sky, for The Otherworld had no sky and was bounded by darkness. Instead, it was a mirror towards the realm of humans. In those unforgiving blue depths he saw his greatest failing in the form of suffering humans. He saw young and old individuals whose time was long gone but who could not welcome their overdue release. He saw tormented faces drenched by tears, he saw grimaces of pain, and he saw corpses with un-beating hearts from which blood still flew freely. By condemning Hope to pain he had brought misery upon the world, upon innocent souls who were slowly dying within the confines of their own carcasses. With a second look at those poor souls who would not get eternal freedom any time soon, he turned on his heels and disappeared in a faint gust of air. She was weakening and because of that, the balance was broken.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Amelia<strong>__\a-me-__lia__\__as __a __girl's __name __is __pronounced __a-MEEL-yah__. __It __is __of __Latin __and __Old __German __origin ,__and __the __meaning __of __Amelia __is __"__industrious__, __striving; __work__"_

As headmistress of Cackle's Academy, Amelia Cackle had a special connection to the castle. It wasn't only that she owned the place, or that she had spent the majority of her adult years within its walls. The connection between her and the school was deeper; more enrooted, and had a magical character. Some days, she could almost hear the movement of magic in the old bricks, she could feel that unique flow pulsate with energy under her wrinkled fingers when she touched the walls and she could even smell the way in which the magical energy perpetually corroded the ancient molecules of the bricks. Today, she could feel nothing. It was as if the entire castle had gone to sleep, giving up its magic, releasing its hidden defences. That is until she had the inspiration to go towards the potions lab. There, almost 50 paces from the old oak door, a battle was raging. For the first time in her life, Amelia could physically see the magic of the castle, in the form of a giant blue force field engulfing that particular corridor, making it impossible for her to reach the potions lab and those who were within. It was then when the headmistress truly started to panic.

It took her almost half a day to fully understand that there was no way to reach those that were trapped within and another half to try to get used to the idea that maybe her precious deputy and students were lost forever. She had tried everything she could think of. She tried vanishing the field of magic, trying to enter it, shouting in hope that those inside the room would hear her, but all her efforts proved futile. It was with an awful sense of desolation that she looked at the blasted blue manifestation of raw power and she couldn't help but ask herself what went wrong. For once, the castle didn't seem like the friendly, nurturing giant which welcomed eager students within its fold, but a dangerous sleeping entity whose power could trap and destroy them all.

"What are we going to do, Amelia?" her musings were stopped by the chirpy voice of her chanting teacher and the headmistress rose her head from the old and torn map of the castle to see Davina place a most welcomed cup of steaming tea on her desk.

What were they going to do? Amelia's primary duty as headmistress was, and always had been, to ensure the safety of her students. Despite all the terrible adventures in which Mildred Hubble and her friends tended to get themselves in, the safety of the student body had never been truly endangered. Truthfully, she had always thought that as long as they were within the high, protective walls of the castle nothing serious could happen. But now everything was different. Now it seemed that the castle itself was turning against its inhabitants and that their safe-home was no longer safe. The headmistress felt like the entire world had been placed on her shoulders and she had no idea how to shrug it off.

"I don't know, Davina..." she answered truthfully and could feel her heart clench at the sad desolate look she received in response.

Her first instinct, as Constance's friend, as her self-appointed surrogate mother, was to go to the potions lab and do whatever was necessary to either get to her deputy or get her out of there. She wanted to punch and kick that force field of magic until her hands were raw. She wanted to cry and shout, hoping that her deputy would hear and respond to her call. Yet she could not. What prevented her from being completely hysterical were the faces of the students that were still outside the danger zone. Faces that openly showed confusion and fear for they could not understand where their potions teacher and fellow peers were. They had all seen the blue wall of energy, they had all marvelled at how something that appeared so beautiful, so harmless, could feel so very cold and deathly. The entire school was plagued by a distinct feel of insecurity, only magnified by the fact that the person who usually protected them all was nowhere to be seen. Amelia refused to even think about it, but for all they knew, Constance and the others could already be dead in that classroom and if that was the case, there was little she could do to help them. Thus, it was for her students that she tried to repress any manifestation of her motherly concern, kept her head high and an appearance of normality in her countenance.

When Davina left, taking her look of incredible sadness with her, Amelia looked at the steaming hot cup of tea. Would it be right to drink it, knowing that the four students and two adults trapped in the potions lab, if they were still alive, had nothing? They had no tea, no food. They had nothing to sooth them, nothing to keep them warm, nothing to keep them alive. With an extremely bitter look at the cup, she took it and drank the tea. As the first sip of the hot liquid was making its way down her throat, burning it mercilessly Amelia allowed herself to put her tired head into her wrinkled hands and let her tears flow freely.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Constance<strong>__\c(o)-nstan-__ce__,__con__-sta-__nce__\__as __a __girl's __name __is __pronounced __KAHN-stans__. __It __is __of __Latin __origin,__and __the __meaning __of __Constance __is __"__constant__,__steadfast__"_

More than twenty four hours…

That was the only thing that the deputy headmistress of Cackle's could think about as she tried to asses the dire situation she, the student teacher and four of the pupils found themselves in. First they had been stuck in the potions lab for more than a day, with no food and no one had come to rescue them. Secondly, after the first moments when they realized they were confined, Miss Hawthorne ordered everyone to fill all available recipients with water. Constance had been puzzled by her request, as being in a potion lab ensured that the only thing they would have would be water, but not wanting to engage into an argument, she wordlessly allowed the girls to do her bidding. The fact that the ten mini-cauldrons filled to the brim were the only available water they had at the moment was disconcerting for more than one reason. Firstly, it meant that they would have less time to get out of the room before death claimed them. Secondly, albeit she had a supernatural hunch, it meant that the young teacher knew more than she let on about their situation.

Constance took as deep a breath she could manage and closed her eyes while propping her elbows on the desk. A wave of dizziness and tiredness flushed over her and she tried to dismiss it while putting on her usually impenetrable mask. She didn't try to be brave. She didn't try to hide her panic from some type of conscious noble sentiment. Instead she was fully aware that if she broke down, physically and mentally, the four students that were trapped in the potions lab with her would also break down. She took a moment to look upon the faces of those four incredible girls that came to mean more to her than she had ever realized. Much like herself, despite being obviously scared, they all tried to put on a brave façade and tried to deal with their panic in the best way possible. Enid and Maud were splayed on one of the desks urging themselves to sleep while Mildred and Ethel, through the virtue of some sort of silent truce, stood cross-legged next to each other, on the floor, their backs leaning on the stone wall at the back of the class. She could honestly say that she was proud of them and could only hope that before something truly tragic happened, they would either be rescued or find a way out.

Hope took a deep breath and leaned against the dark wooden desk, her hands involuntarily massaging her temples trying to prevent the impeding migraine and a sigh escaping her lips. Like the stoic Miss Hardbroom she was worried but refused to show it. Unlike Miss Hardbroom she wasn't dying, at least not immediately, but her situation wasn't much better. She didn't know if the woman was realizing it, but she was wasting away, quicker than normal, right before their eyes and Hope had no idea why. It was this particular uncertainty, upon which so very much depended, that unnerved her and made her feel more and more vulnerable by the minute. Was Miss Hardbroom dying because of the curse, because of the lockdown or was there another force into play? She honestly had no idea, but she knew, that for everyone's safety she needed to do the supernatural to keep the woman from pitifully expiring within that blasted potions lab. Considering that their resources were more than scarce, the fact that the deputy was in less than stellar health, and that their magic seemed that to have disappeared, keeping the woman alive was easier said than done. Yet so, Hope, ironically, hoped that someone, anyone, would find a way to aid them in their predicament before tragedy struck. For her part, despite previous animosity, she was resolute to at least be kind to the deputy and hopefully help her stay alive for as long as necessary.

"Drink…" Hope said calmly upon hearing a raspy cough breaking the solemn silence of the room, handing the woman a small jar filled with water.

"There is no need… I feel fine…" Constance whispered, retaining her proud and self-sufficient air despite her frail appearance.

"Look, Miss Hardbroom, I don't know why, but I know that you don't particularly like me…" Hope started calmly but the piercing look the deputy threw her made her stop.

"It's not that I don't like you, Miss Hawthorne. It's that I don't trust you…" Constance interrupted

"Too bad then, because if you want to come out of here alive you will have to trust me" the student teacher whispered harshly, her pleasant countenance slipping for a moment.

"How did you know that the water will stop?" the deputy asked harshly, voicing the question that had been troubling her for the past hour.

"Let's just say it was a hunch…" Hope answered with a hint of derision clear in her voice.

"Do not lie to me, Miss Hawthorne. Remember that you are asking for trust…" Constance counteracted and the woman's superior smile faltered for a second.

"It's a very long story, Miss Hardbroom. One that I am sure no one will benefit from" she replied in all seriousness, her voice becoming slightly deeper.

"Well, if we have something, that is time and I want to be judge of whether your story will be beneficial in any way for both me and the others…" the deputy followed, knowing that if there was a time to gain some answers from the younger woman that was it.

"Fine. As you wish. You know the man that you invited into the castle? The one that you celebrate as your benefactor? The one that your gym mistress is sleeping with? This is his handiwork…" she snapped, her voice never rising above a whisper but her tone becoming more aggressive.

"Mr Mallard?" Constance whispered, her thin eyebrows rising slightly in surprise. She had known that the man was bad news for the school, but even she wouldn't have suspected him to be so vindictive and hurtful.

"The one and only" Hope answered bitterly

"That doesn't necessarily explain how you knew about the water situation. Or that Mr Mallard was the one behind the whole ordeal, for that matter" she stated, her piercing hazel glare refusing to avoid the increasingly dangerous blue one

"The thing is, I've known Evan for a couple of years, and suffice to say that we haven't exactly been the greatest of friends. We were always caught up in a power play of some sort…"she offered vaguely, but she knew that it wouldn't be enough for the woman who was now watching her with a strangely inquisitive look "Evan has some control over water. And I knew that if he was involved in this mess, he will also stop our water"

"He is an Elemental Master? One of THE Elemental Masters?" Miss Hardbroom whispered a trace of confusion and fear clear in her voice. While still a young witch in training she had read about the origins of magic and those people who could tame magic in its purest of forms, namely the elements. At that time she had discarded it as a very old legend that held no importance for today's magical world. Apparently she had been wrong. Suddenly something struck her and she looked at the woman in front differently, more cautiously. She had heard Miss Drill talk about how the girl managed to prevent the two potions accidents and she was fairly certain that the gym mistress mentioned the word "fire". Or maybe it was "flames". It didn't really matter. It suddenly dawned on her that the smooth-talking Mr Mallard wasn't the only Elemental Master affiliated to Cackle's.

"Yes" she confirmed, inwardly cursing that the woman seemed to know about the existence of Elemental Masters.

"But why would he come here, at Cackle's of all places?" she hated the fact that she had to drag every single piece of information out of the younger woman, but she knew that it was very important, not only for her but for the safety those inside that room as well to have all the facts.

"That I don't know…" Hope lied smoothly but the other woman didn't seem convinced.

"Tell me, Miss Hawthorne, are you truly an apprentice student teacher in potions?" she asked in her, albeit much more feeble, trademark mocking tone,

"What?" Hope said unconsciously and mentally beat herself for her slip of tongue.

"I thought so" Constance said calmly, the girl's reaction confirming what she needed to know. "The way I see it, Miss Hawthorne, both you and Mr Mallard have a certain power over the elements. He controls Water, and you Fire. I don't exactly know why, but Mr Mallard decided to take an interest in the Academy and you decided to follow him here. By your own admission you aren't on friendly terms with him and I could only infer that you either wanted to bother him or stop him from doing something. Seeing our current predicament, you either bothered him too much or failed in your mission to stop him..." She acted as if she was explaining a difficult lesson to a less than bright child but was satisfied to see a flicker of recognition in the other woman's usually cold blue eyes. Knowing that she was treading in dangerous waters, Hope decided to put a stop on the conversation by turning her back on the woman and wordlessly taking her place at the back of the class.

Although she was dissatisfied that the younger woman had decided to cut their conversation short, the deputy decided not to pursue it any further. For now she had all the information she needed and she had already thought of another option from which their situation could arise. An option that terrified her and that she had decided to dismiss for the moment. There was a possibility that Miss Hawthorne was the one who had an interest in Cackle's and Mr Mallard was the one that wanted to stop whatever she wanted to do. She decided to not dwell on this option for one simple reason: she and four of her students were locked in a very small space with the woman and although her powers seemed to have vanished, no one could tell how dangerous she could become when placed under suspicion and cornered. Still, Constance was resolute to keep an eye on the impostor student teacher and, if ever they managed to get out of the potions lab alive, to make sure that she left Cackle's as soon as possible.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Davina<strong>__\d(a)-vi-__na__\__as __a __girl's __name __is __pronounced __dah-VEE-nah__. __It __is __of __Scottish __and __Hebrew __origin, __and __the __meaning __of __Davina __is __"__beloved__"._

For the first time in her long tenure as a teacher at Cackle's, Davina felt it would be inappropriate for her to go and hide in her beloved closet. As she kept silent company to the obviously tired headmistress she looked longingly at her wooden supply cupboard. Oh how she wanted to hide herself in that small, protective space and not come out until the whole mess was over. Despite her wishes, Davina had enough sense to know that now it would truly be a bad time to lock herself up. Although most of the people in the school treated her as a negligible quantity during a crises and usually turned to what they believed to be more competent members of staff like Miss Hardbroom or even Imogen, Davina knew that in this particular moment there was at least one person who truly needed her. Amelia Cackle, although resolute to keep a brave front and be full of optimism, was breaking apart right in front of her eyes and the chanting teacher honoured their long term friendship by helping the headmistress as much as she could. She realized that for once, despite her impulses, she had to be an adult.

There had been a great sense of loss in the Academy during the day despite the staff's better efforts to keep things as normal as possible. Amelia had told both Imogen and herself that lessons would continue no matter what for the benefit of the student's morale and that they would avoid, as much as possible, any discussion related to what was happening in the potions lab. In an uncharacteristic bout of responsibility, Davina headed her employer's orders as best as she could and she tried to hide the inherent sense of panic that would take hold of her more often than not. Of course the fact that Sybil Hallow had come teary-eyed to her chanting lesson and demanded between sobs to know what was happening to her sister, didn't help to calm down Miss Bat who almost burst into tears herself. How could she tell a thirteen year old girl that they had absolutely no idea of what was going on in that room? How could she tell her that as far as they knew, her sister might be dead? For the first time in her long life, Davina wished that she was more like Constance. She wished that she could hold a tight reign over her feelings and calmly and logically explain to the hysterical girl that everything would be sorted out, one way or the other. Instead, her response to Sybil's question had been a far too tight hug that not only almost strangled the student but also made her cry even harder.

She felt an overwhelming feeling of uselessness and guilt when she had to send the girl to Miss Cackle's office to calm down. Why did she become a teacher when she was unable to guide and help her students? Moreover, as one of Sybil's form tutors she should have been able to do something, anything, for the girl. Once again, the question that had been ever-so present in her mind during the past few hours came to fore: What would Constance do? She would probably straighten her back, push her chin upwards with that regal air of confidence that only she was able to display, open her mouth in that encouraging smile of hers that all her students sought and offer some well-chosen words heartening words in her trademark powerful voice. Davina was aware that she couldn't do that, for Davina wasn't Constance. She couldn't show any confidence for she completely lacked it, her smiles were too freely given to mean anything for the students, she neither had any well-chosen words nor a powerful voice that commanded both respect and urged the student to settle her nerves. The only thing that she knew how to do was chant and that seemed to be far too useless in the present situation. She was certain that no matter how powerful they were, even her Mongolian chants wouldn't do anything to improve anyone's spirits.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ethel<strong>__\e-__thel__\ __as __a __girl's __name __is __pronounced __ETH-el__. __It __is __of __Old __English __origin, __and __the __meaning __of __Ethel __is __"__noble__"_

Although her calm exterior didn't show it, Ethel was panicking. For the hundredth time she calmly tried to mutter a simple transformation spell under her breath and found that nothing was happening. Although they all tried to avoid the subject she was aware that they all knew that somehow they were unable to make use of their natural gifts within the room. Much like herself she had seen, out of the corner of her eye, HB trying to cast simple spells when no one was noticing. The fact that her powerful teacher, the most powerful witch she knew, was unable to make use of her talent, that she was as powerless as them, made the young girl tremble with fear. In this particular scenario the fact that she was a witch of superior skill, the fact that she was a Hallow didn't seem to matter much and that frightened her. After all, those were the two things that defined her, that gave her an identity and made her who she was. What would she be if she couldn't cast spells and who would she be if she wasn't a Hallow?

Next to her, her arch enemy was throwing her worried glances and she resented every single one of them. Although she didn't need pity from the likes of Mildred Hubble, she found it strangely reassuring that someone was concerned for her. One of her fears, although she would have never admitted it, when they realized that they were stuck in the potions lab was that she would be alone. Of course, Miss Hardbroom and Miss Hawthorne were there and so were the other three students, but she was afraid that they would all exclude her, that they would leave her to her own devices. She feared that as adults, the two teachers would stick together and so would the other three girls who were practically best friends. This fear was reiterated by the fact that she was well aware that it was her stupid mistake, her stupid prank that had gotten them into the detention in the potions lab in the first place. She was sure that the others blamed her and would punish her by isolating her.

Yet, with her annoyingly perceptive nature, Mildred Hubble seemed to understand this particular sentiment of hers and after exchanging some whispered words with her two friends, she came and silently sat down next to Ethel in the corner of the classroom she had chosen as her own. The girl didn't speak, didn't smile, she didn't do anything, really. She just sat there, next to Ethel and although she hated to acknowledge it, the prim and proper Hallow heir relished in this limited human contact for it gave her a strange sense of security. That didn't mean that she suddenly started to like her arch enemy. On the contrary. Now more than ever, despite ( or maybe because of) the immense sense of gratitude she felt towards the other girl, she hated her. She loathed her for one simple reason: by coming next to her, by initiating what seemed to be like a silent truce between them, Mildred Hubble had proved herself to be the better human being, and Ethel Hallow hated to be bettered by anyone.

"I hate you, Mildred Hubble…" Ethel said softly, her voice dripping with venom but her words carrying little sentiment behind them.

"I know, Ethel" the other girl answered calmly, unfazed by the harsh tone, a sly smile forming on her lips and her eyes sparkling mischievously as if she was privy to a secret no one else was.

"Why don't you go back you your friends?" Ethel asked, upset with herself that she wasn't able to show a modicum of civility towards her arch enemy.

"I like this corner" Mildred answered simply, not wanting to wound Ethel's pride any further. She was well aware that although she wouldn't admit it, Ethel wasn't as strong as she wanted others to believe she was and she needed someone to be there for her.

"Well, I came here first" Ethel replied with her characteristic superior air and Mildred's smile never faltered.

"You are right. This is your corner. Could you please let me share it with you?" she asked meekly.

Ethel looked at the other girl in surprise and refused to acknowledge what Mildred Hubble was doing. Her arch enemy, the girl who she hated most in the school, once again proved to be the better person by taking care not to hurt Ethel's feelings any further. Firmly believing that she was doing Mildred a favour by sharing her corner, and feeling slightly better about herself, she nodded and received a beaming smile in return. She refused to look at that smile, she refused to smile back and instead fixed her eyes on Miss Hawthorne's beautiful red shoes. One day she would wear shoes as beautiful and expensive as hers and everyone would admire them. If she got out alive, that is.

The girls were oblivious to the fact that the two adults were watching their exchange with a modicum of interest and each had different feelings about what was happening. Hope looked at the two girls and couldn't help but smile at the way in which Mildred had managed to practically manipulate Ethel into accepting her help. She didn't expect such a display of slyness from the girl and that coupled with what she knew about Mildred and her powers made the idea of turning the girl into a potential ally have much more merit. On her part, Constance also smiled and simply felt very proud at how much the girl she had dubbed as the worst witch in school had grown as a human being.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Noah<strong>__\__noa__h\ __as __a __boy's __name __is __pronounced __NOH-ah __. __It __is __of __Hebrew __origin, __and __the __meaning __of __Noah __is__"__peaceful__".__Also __possibly __"long-lived",__"__comforter__",__or__"__wanderer__"._

Noah Elwood fancied himself a very calm man, but when he had received the call from Cackle's Academy, informing him that Constance, Hope and four students were trapped in one of the classrooms with no chance to get out, he wanted to break something. Or rather someone. His morning had been uneventful up to that point. Ever since Hope went to teach in the academy, every single morning would be the same for him. He would wake up early, get dressed, grab a spot of breakfast in the shabby dining hall of the old inn while reading the morning paper, call home for news of his mother and check once again the file of his newest patient. He couldn't say that this particular routine was bothering him. On the contrary. In all the years he had spent cooped up in his own mansion, he found that having a certain amount of routine in his life was settling for both him and his mother. He also found, early in his self-imposed solitude, that he liked this lack of excitement for one simple reason: the activities that were most likely to disturb the monotony of his day were tantrums or psychotic episodes coming from his mother. Needless to say that he abhorred that particular kind of surprises.

When his phone rang in the middle of breakfast on that particular day, Noah was once again reminded why he hated anything that disturbed his morning routine. He utterly loathed that small black cell phone. For a split second he toyed with the idea of ignoring the annoying Carmina Burana ringtone that Hope had set on his phone as some sort of twisted joke, and focus on his breakfast. He would have concentrated on his half eaten home-made scone more if he didn't know that only three things in the entire world could make Carl Orff's O Fortuna from Carmina Burana disturb his morning peace. One of them was Hope herself but in light of the argument they had the other day he doubted that she would call him. Unless it was an emergency, that is, but he couldn't imagine something that she would be unable to handle and need his help with. After all, she had made it pretty clear how much she resented his help and how little she trusted him. Another possibility was the maids from Elwood Manor informing him that something had happened to his mother. Yet so, they had enough common sense to know that unless something potentially life-threatening was happening to his mother, he could do little to help being miles away. The third and final option was the one that scared him most. As the second measure of O Fortuna rang, mercilessly filling the room with highly macabre tones, he somehow knew that the call was coming from Cackle's and was somehow related to Constance. He could only hope that it wasn't something serious. He dearly wished that nothing had happened to her.

As he answered the phone, his suspicions confirmed upon seeing the caller id, he was greeted by the slightly hysterical voice of the chanting teacher. As calmly as she could manage she told him the entire situation and he felt like the last piece of scone he had eaten was stuck in his throat. With trembling hands and a shaking voice he ended the call, promising the agitated woman that he would visit the Academy as soon as possible, and fought the urge to throw that vile, little carrier of bad news against the wall. A million questions were running through his mind and he had to take a steadying breath and a serious gulp of water before he managed to fully process the situation. "A blue force field of magic." " We are unable to reach them." "The Castle trapped them in the potions lab." "We haven't seen them since yesterday evening" They were all phrases his mind failed to fully comprehend. How could they be trapped in a classroom? Why were they unable to come out? How could the castle Constance loved so much turn against her? Why wasn't Hope, possibly the most powerful witch in the world, unable to break through the force field? Did Constance have her medicine with her? Did they have food? Did they have water?

That last question was the one that made him realize that the answers of almost all the other ones were contained in one single word: Water. All his information about Elemental Magic came from Hope, which considering the secretive nature of his friend meant his information was at best scarce. He didn't know all the details of the powers of the four, or rather two, Elemental Masters held, but he did know the big picture. He knew why his friend was unable to break through the field. Like everything in nature all the elements were contradictory to each other. The opposite of Water was Fire. The opposite of Air was Earth. If an Elemental Master was to cast a curse upon another using only his element and not his magical power, the other Elemental Master would be unable to stop it simply because he or she didn't have the tools to influence that particular element. Noah realized that what Miss Bat had described as a "blue force field of magic" wasn't really magical energy but Water. Or better said, the spiritual essence of Water. Hope's primal element, Fire, would be useless against Water.

If she couldn't use Fire, why didn't she use the second element under her command? Why didn't she use Earth to break through the barrier of Water? Earth and Water weren't opposites, Earth could absorb Water and make the barrier disappear. So why didn't she use it? The only logical reason Noah could think of was that she couldn't use her second element. This conclusion scared him for it meant that something in that room made his friend lose her command on at least one of her elements and if that was so, there was a big chance that the others had lost some of their magic as well. The only thing that made Noah cling to his wish that everything would be well and that no harm would come to pass to Constance while in that blasted room, was the knowledge that Hope, probably the most powerful person he knew, was there. He knew that his best friend was obstinate, disproved of his relationship with the deputy headmistress and didn't particularly like the woman. But he also knew that for whatever reason he wasn't privy to, she needed to keep her alive and protect her. Now, as he reached the conclusion that most likely Hope's powers were obsolete he felt a terrible sense of desolation wash over him.

Out of all the magical gifts he had been blessed with, the one he cherished most was that of his ability to see more than others could. This particular gift had always been keyed to his friend and to the future of her one and only enemy: Evan Mallard. He knew that the chance of obtaining useful information from the man who was probably the cause of all the misfortune was practically non-existent. Yet he also knew that he was probably the only person who truly realized the key part that the haughty Mr Mallard played in the events happening within the academy. As such, with no further thought, he allowed his mind to be emptied of all feelings and focus on the familiar face of the wielder of Water and Air. After a few minutes, when he had found what he was looking for, Noah broke his trance, took his travelling cloak and decided that he would pay the man an unannounced, and probably unwelcomed, visit.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Enid<strong>__\e-n__id__\__as __a __girl's __name __is __pronounced __EE-nid__. __It __is __of __Welsh __origin, __and __the __meaning __of __Enid __is__"__soul__,__life__"_

For the twentieth time in the past hour, Enid tried to remember how long people were able to live without food and water. She was sure that during their adventure in the great outdoors in their first year at Cackle's, Miss Drill had mentioned something about survival skills and how long people could live without food and water. Enid cursed herself for both not listening and not remembering. There were so many things that she deemed unnecessary over the years, things that she discarded as completely useless and that now seemed of paramount importance that she couldn't help but feel like in not learning those things she had cheated herself. For example, she clearly remembered her father wanting to enrol her into the magical equivalent of girl scouts. He used to say that it would not only be good for her overall physical health but that she would also learn how to survive without magic. Of course, as flippant as ever, Enid had plainly refused and pointed out that the chance of her having to fend for herself without magic was infinitely small. Had she been able to see into the future, had she been able to look at herself as she was now, head placed on one of the wooden desks in the potions lab, her stomach almost screaming for food, her throat dry with thirst, she would have taken the opportunity in a heartbeat. But she hadn't been able to have this kind of foresight and she hated herself for it.

She was sure that they had been stuck in the potions lab for more than a day and as much as she wanted to believe that it would not be long before they would be rescued, Enid was unable to lie to herself in such a manner. She wondered for a second what the other inhabitants of the room felt. There seemed to be an eerie sense of calm coming from every corner of the classroom and a pregnant silence that was ever so often disturbed by Miss Hawthorne's high heels when the woman decided she had had enough staying in one spot and started pacing around the room. Although under normal circumstances she would have found that sound annoying, Enid was grateful for its presence. It meant that they were alive, that they still had a chance to find a solution, it meant that they weren't giving up and that they weren't going to succumb to a pathetic death. She dreaded the day that sound was going to stop. She dreaded the day Miss Hawthorne herself will be too tired to move and the soft clicking sound of her heels would fade away together with the woman who was wearing them.

Lost in her musings over the situation, Enid barely noticed the student teacher standing behind her and placing a small cup of water on her desk. She wasn't sure that she was going to laugh or cry at the sight of the small ratio she was given. That was to be both her breakfast and her launch and the girl wondered how she should drink the blasted cup of water. Should she gulp it down and quench the aching thirst in her throat or should she sip it slowly, trying to make it last longer? Should she drink it all now, or should she save some for later? The girl was amazed that so many questions could arise from something that she had previously taken for granted. She swore, then and there that after they got out of this whole mess, she would cherish every single sip of water she took and every single morsel of food she ate. Deciding that she would be cautious, she took the cup and sipped half the amount slowly saving the other half for later. Feeling the dryness of her throat and lips lessening she nodded her thanks to Miss Hawthorne and the woman acknowledged it with a nod of her own.

Truth be told, Enid wasn't sure that the woman was even human. During the entire time they had been locked up she had seen her distribute the water they had saved in the small cauldrons into small ratios, she had seen her walk around the classroom and share the cups between the students, but she had yet to see her take even a small sip of water. The girl wondered how her young teacher felt, if she, who was on the third ratio of water in the past twenty four hours, felt like she was going to cough up sand any minute now. Her theory that the woman wasn't human was further supported by the fact that she had yet to see her sleep. No food, no water, no sleep for more than twenty four hours and Miss Hawthorne was still as calm, as unperturbed as usual, not a hair out of place, the same easy air of confidence hanging around her.

In a stark contrast to the easiness with which Miss Hawthorne seemed to take the whole ordeal in her stride, HB looked like death warmed over, despite her attempts to hide it with her usually impassive mask. She was pale as hell, it was obvious that she sometimes had trouble breathing and the shake of her usually steady hands was progressing at an alarming rate. Enid also had yet to see her form tutor sleep but unlike the student teacher who made it look easy and effortless, it seemed that HB was going through a veritable battle of wills not to allow herself to succumb to her tiredness. Despite her usual dislike for her strict teacher, Enid found that she admired the woman's sheer determination. If someone had asked her a week before how she would feel if she was locked in the same room with HB, she would have said that she would have rather died before allowing herself to be in such a situation. Yet now, when she was actually trapped in the same space with her formidable teacher she found that she drew comfort from the woman's presence. In fact, it was more comforting for her to see how her form tutor managed to conquer her obvious weakness every single minute than see Miss Hawthorne and her unaltered both physical and mental state.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Imogen<strong>__\i-mo-__gen__\__as __a __girl's __name __is __of __Irish __and __Gaelic __origin, __and __the __meaning __of __Imogen __is__"__maiden__"_

As she conducted the routine exercise program for the third year girls, Imogen Drill felt a particular sense of hopelessness as she watched the sad and inquisitive looks Jadu, Rubi and Drusilla were throwing her. Despite being sworn enemies, the three girls had come earlier in the day, before their usual gym class started, looking for answers concerning the disappearance of their friends. As much as she wanted to help them and offer the answers that they were looking for, the gym mistress was unable to. Her inability to satisfy the girl's natural curiosity steamed from two particular instances. First and foremost, the headmistress had more or less forbidden both her and Davina to discuss what was going on within the school with the students. Although she completely agreed with Miss Cackle that offering the whole version of the truth would only create panic among the student body, she firmly believed that the friends of those involved in the ordeal should at least be given a modicum of information. Secondly, even if she had been at liberty to discuss what was happening with the three girls, she wouldn't have known what to tell them. Amelia had tried to explain, to the best of her ability, what she understood of what was happening, but the non-magical member of the staff failed to wrap her head around the events. For years and years she had seen incredible things happen because of magic, some of them stranger than others, but she had never seen magic being used in such a vile and dangerous way. In the slightly naïve perception of someone who had only observed school-level spells, she thought that despite the endless possibilities, magic was essentially harmless.

There was another fact that both confused Miss Drill and also gave her a sense of how dire the situation truly was. If there was one person she associated with magical prowess that was Miss Hardbroom. To her mind, her colleague was probably one of the most powerful magical beings surpassing even the fool that called himself Grand Wizard. She knew that Constance not only had an immense knowledge of magical theory but that her power was also vast. Even as sick as she had been during the past weeks, she was certain that her powers were still great. Furthermore, from what she had heard from the girls, the new student teacher was also capable of performing impressive bits of magic that managed to stop two potentially dangerous explosions. So how could two proficient witches allow themselves to be caught in what looked like a peculiar smoke screen of blue fumes? Although she wanted to believe that Miss Cackle was blowing the event out of proportions, she had to admit that if Constance hadn't been able to "magick" herself out of her own classroom, then the situation was pretty serious.

Another event that had her worried, and she truly hoped that it had nothing to do with what was happening inside the academy, was the fact that she had been unable to contact Evan. For more than a day, after being surprisingly distant during their last encounter, the man seemed to have pulled a veritable disappearing act which was slightly odd considering that their relationship had been more than perfect up to that point. Also, as the school's benefactor, didn't he have a vested interest in how things were going within the Academy? She knew for a fact that Amelia had tried to contact him earlier in the day, only to be greeted by his polite and impersonal voice-mail. Every single day since they had met, he had either come to meet her in the academy or at least called her when he couldn't make it. Until a week ago, that is. In fact, Imogen remembered clearly that the last day Evan had come to Overblow Castle was in fact the day before the new student teacher arrived. Although she wanted to dismiss it as a coincidence, in light of what was happening with the castle now and the reticent way he reacted to their conversation about Hope, she instinctively knew that there must be some sort of connection between the two seemingly unrelated events. It hit her with the force of a double decker that the only logical explanation was that the two people, Hope and Evan, knew each other.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Hope<strong>__\__ho__-__pe__\ __as __a __girl's __name __is __pronounced __hope __.__It __is __of __Old __English __origin , __and __the __meaning __of __Hope __is __"expectation;__belief__"._

No matter how hard she tried, Hope could not bring herself to feel afraid. She was locked up in a room with four students, an angry and sick teacher, with no food and water and having a pretty good idea of what was in store for her, but she could not feel a the fear that would have been appropriate in such a situation. In truth, she barely felt anything. She had no idea if that was herself or merely her less than extensive grasp on human emotion, but the woman was certain that it wasn't fine to be as emotionless as a stone in such a situation. With a soft sight she once again took to pacing the classroom, relishing the way in which her high heels broke the silence and made the lab feel more alive. Instead of fear, she could feel her heart beat with trepidation and her mouth open up in a smile of sadistic amusement and curiosity. So this is what everything had come to.

She had known that Evan would regard her being in the academy and her using the ring as a provocation and it appeared, judging by her current predicament, that the man had decided to retaliate. Of course she knew that he would. Ever since she was born she knew of the existence of the Mallard family and of their elder son and heir. Evan was such a deceiving and ironic name for a man just three years her senior, who was charming and refined but with such cruel tendencies and ambitions. She had been brought up to fear and hate him, his image of absolute power being used by her father the same way that most parents use the Bogey Man or monsters to scare their children into obedience. His existence hovered above her like an awful ghost, a spirit that she could definitely do without but couldn't let go. After all, what would she be, who would she be, if Evan had never existed? She would be nothing. His existence gave hers meaning; his life gave hers a purpose.

It was an impossibly warm summer afternoon of her fourteenth year of life when her childhood bogey man presented himself to her in his entire manly glory. That day's events were so clearly burned in her mind that she could almost hear the feeble attempt of the wind to fly free through the almost burned leaves and the smell of the scorched ground. Hope, then a lanky fourteen year old girl with long black hair and impossibly white skin, sat in defiance of the heat, under an old oak tree on the grounds of Hawthorne Manor reading yet another one of the impossible long text her father wanted her to study. The person that appeared in front of her looked nothing like she had imagined that childhood image of terror to look like. For one, he wasn't scary. He was a tall teenager whose tall lean body had developed early into that of a man, with impossibly unruly blond hair and almond-shaped hazel eyes. That, coupled with the faded jeans and white T-shirt he wore, made him look so normal that Hope immediately wondered why the powerful wards around her family home hadn't reacted and evacuated the stranger. Yet, as she rose herself, removing dried earth from one of her favourite long red skirts, and approached the man she immediately understood why the wards hadn't been activated. She also immediately knew who he was.

It seemed, much like herself, he had been trained to hide his true nature, thus the signs of his power were almost invisible. It wasn't in his countenance or in the features of his thin face that she saw it. What betrayed him was that despite his better efforts the faint breeze seemed to swirl around him and that the dried grass was greener, more alive, at his feet. She realized that she didn't fear him. Now that she actually saw who he was, and how he looked like, she couldn't fear him. With a playful smile on her lips, her blue eyes sparkling like those of a mischievous child, she raised her hand and touched his cheek, feeling the traces of an almost invisible stubble break the smoothness of his skin. He was real, he was there, and he existed. When she looked up to see his chocolate eyes widened in horror she burst out laughing and ran towards her house leaving him behind to stare at her with confusion and hear the clinking, childish sound of her laughter. Evan Mallard had been her own personal childhood bogey man, and she was sure that she, the thin, pale Hope Hawthorne, had been his.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Maud<strong>__\maud\ __is __a __name __of __Old __German __origin, __and __the __meaning __of __Maud __is __"__mighty __in __battle__"_

Maud had tried to sleep for almost two hours before she finally gave up, and with a sigh she tiredly opened her eyes and sluggishly turned her head to look at the other inhabitants of the room. She felt the back of her throat burn with thirst and her stomach grumble with hunger but she didn't dare to ask any of the adults for some water. Their resources were more than scarce and Maud had a feeling that she wasn't the one that needed them the most.

She did not know why, maybe because she wasn't deathly pale, but Miss Hawthorne's presence was so much more comforting that the one of her own form mistress. The woman stood tall, pacing the classroom, her high red heels clicking on the hard wood floor, a neutral expression set on her features. Truth be told, apart from ordering them to save as much water as they could in the available cauldrons and the muttered conversation she had with HB, the woman didn't say much. She didn't offer an encouraging speech, she didn't tell them everything would be ok and although Maud quickly found that she was scared by the taciturn nature of her usually vivacious teacher, she did appreciate that the woman didn't fill them up with false hope. As pale as a sheet of paper, taking shaky breaths and sometimes closing her eyes in an involuntary sign of weakness, Miss Hardbroom was watching her much younger counterpart like a hawk. The student didn't know what the two women had talked about, but the conversation had been, at best, tense. Ever since then, both teachers seemed resolute to stay out of each other's way as much as possible, with their form tutor sometimes shooting suspicious glances towards the student teacher.

"You should try to sleep as much as possible, Maud…" Miss Hawthorne said kindly, her pale hand touching the student's shoulder.

"I tried, but I can't…" the girl said softly, her eyes studying the wooden desk intently. How could she tell her that she was too hungry, too thirsty, and too concerned to sleep?

"I know it's hard, but you should try…sleeping as much as possible is the best thing considering the current… situation…"she replied in the same low soothing voice.

Maud didn't reply and instead her eyes turned towards her form tutor who was now moving on shaky legs towards the potions cupboard at the back of the class. After a few seconds of searching she came to her desk, a vial filled with a purple liquid in her hand and offered it to the girl.

"I didn't want to use this so soon, if at all, but you seem to need it, Maud" Miss Hardbroom said in a soft, barely auditable voice "It's a Sleeping Draught and it will give you at least a few hours of sleep"

Maud looked at the small vial torn between taking it and refusing her teacher's kind offer. On the one hand she wanted to take it. She was tired and wanted to sleep so badly. She wanted to forget that she was thirsty and hungry and knew that she would find release in sleep. On the other hand, she felt guilty for taking something that could be needed by others later on. Miss Hardbroom herself looked like she was in need of a couple hours of sleep and the girl suspected that at that particular moment she was far less frail than her potions teacher. She was about to refuse when she met the steely glare of her form tutor and knew at once that her teacher was aware of her conflicting thoughts. For a moment, she felt ashamed to think that her teacher was so very frail and sick.

"Maud Moonshine, Miss Hawthorne and I are the adults here. It is our responsibility to take care of you four, not the other way around" her form tutor said in her usual determined voice and once again, Maud felt herself cower under the woman's powerful stare.

"Miss Hardbroom is right, Maud. Drink the potion" the student teacher said in a voice much kinder than HB's but equally determined.

Under the pressure of the two adults, the girl took the vial offered to her and put it to her lips. The potion tasted horrible, both salty and sweet at the same time and it made her dry lips and throat hurt but its effects were almost immediate and she could feel her eyelids drop and her consciousness slip at an alarming rate. Miss Hawthorne was still holding her hand on her shoulder as she placed her head upon the desk and she was grateful for that touch. It wasn't exactly motherly, or even extremely friendly, but Maud thought it felt good to feel another human being, someone who was alive and warm, so very close to her. For the first time in the hours she had found out that they were unable to open the door, she felt safe and protected.

"Miss Hawthorne, do you think we'll ever get out of here?" maybe it was the Sleeping Draught, or the proximity of sleep itself that made her voice her concerns, but once she asked that question she felt a huge load being lifted off her shoulders.

"I won't lie to you, Maud. I don't know for sure, but I can promise that I will do my best to get us out of here" she answered, her hold on the girl's shoulder becoming slightly tighter. It wasn't exactly a comforting answer, but Maud appreciated it much more than a blatant lie. As the realm of dreams claimed her, she could feel her mouth open in a slight smile. Miss Hawthorne had said that she would do her best to get them out of there and that was strangely reassuring.

After she made sure that the girl was asleep Hope lifter her hand from her shoulder and faced the deputy headmistress. The woman was watching her interact with the student, mixed emotions clear on her face. If possible she looked even sicker and more tired than before, so Hope decided to break the silence that had been established between them during the previous hours and handed her the small vial of Sleeping Draught together with yet another cup of water. Out of all of them, Miss Hardbroom was the one who needed rest and care the most but the woman's proud, obstinate and suspicious nature made her a disregard this obvious fact. The younger woman knew that left to her own devices, Constance Hardbroom would easily succumb to her self-sacrificing impulses and would practically throw herself into a very early grave. Considering the connection between them, that wasn't an option. Hope didn't really care if the woman was slightly suicidal, she very much wanted to live and even if she had to force potions, water and whatever else she needed to survive down her throat, she would do so.

"Miss Hardbroom, you should try to sleep as well. I know you don't particularly trust me, but I can promise that I won't murder you all in your sleep. What would I gain from it, anyway?" she said with a mocking tone.

"You need sleep as well, Miss Hawthorne" Constance stated matter-of-factly looking at the vial and cup of water she had placed on her desk.

"With all due respect, I don't think I look like I am about to kneel over and die in the next few hours so I can say that you need it more than me" she says in a straightforward manner, a wry smile gracing her features.

Once again Constance appreciated the girl's direct words and was fairly certain that had the circumstances of their acquaintance been different, had the young woman been honest and never raised such suspicions, they would have formed a relationship akin to friendship. As things were though, she couldn't help but mistrust the younger woman. Still, there was some truth behind her words and some rationale behind her logic and the deputy could see that the best way to protect her students either from what was keeping them inside the potions lab or from Miss Hawthorne was to stay alive for as long as possible. With an imperceptible nod towards her counterpart she raised the vial of Sleeping Draught to her lips and sipped a small amount of the potion.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Egbert<strong>__\e-gbe-__rt__,__eg__-__bert__\__as __a __boy's __name __is __of __Old __English __origin ,__and __the __meaning __of __Egbert __is __"__bright__, __famous __sword__"_

Egbert Hellebore usually assessed the magnitude of the problems of Cackle's Academy by the way he was received there by the four staff members. As such he knew immediately that the school was in some kind of rut by his non-existent festive greeting. Entering the school as he always did, through the front door, Algernon close on his heels, he was welcomed by a slightly pale headmistress, a nervous and twitching chanting teacher and an almost indifferent gym teacher. He did not bother to ask where the fourth member of staff was for he knew that whatever was happening with the academy probably involved her and that was the reason for the worry of the other three teachers.

"Tell me, dear lady, what seems to be the problem?" he asked in an overly affected tone and Amelia Cackle wordlessly shook her head. Refusing to have this particular conversation in the middle of the hallway, the headmistress guided her two guests towards the staff room, stopping briefly on the way to show them exactly what the problem was.

The world renowned grand wizard gasped when he saw the blue manifestation of magic that was blocking all access towards the potions lab. He prided himself on being extremely knowledgeable, on being the counsellor of kings, but he had never seen anything that like in his entire long life. The field of energy seemed particularly harmless at a first glance, even more, it had a natural feel to it. As if one was able to encounter the thing it was made of daily. He extended his hand to touch it and was surprised that the blue vapours were as solid as a wall upon touch, like a stone wall, but still had a distinct cool and soothing feel of familiarity to it. For a crazy moment he had the impression that the thing in front of him was solid and liquid at the same time. He shook his head and followed his host in the staff room, where the chanting teacher offered him a cup of tea and promptly went to ask Miss Tapioca for some home-made pastries for their guests.

"How did that happen?" Algernon asked the headmistress, his friend visibly shaken as he had also touched the field and probably had the same peculiar feeling that he had.

"We have no idea. It just appeared out of nowhere yesterday evening and we tried everything to dispel it, but no ordinary vanishing spell seems to work." Amelia Cackle answered in a voice that wanted to be as cool as collected as possible but which clearly betrayed her distress.

"Was anyone in there when the that thing appeared?" the grand wizard inquired, sipping a mouthful of his tea, although by the absence of the stoic Miss Hardbroom he could infer that at least one member was staff was in that particular area when everything happened.

"Constance, four of our third year student, including Mildred Hubble and your new potions student teacher, Miss Hope Hawthorne" the headmistress asked and while Algernon lamented the loss of his favourite student, declaring how unlucky the girl was to always attract trouble, Egbert himself was more interested in another name.

"Hawthorne, you said?" he asked once again and the headmistress confirmed with a nod of her head. Although Miss Cackle seemed to be oblivious to it, the Hawthorne family was one of the oldest magical families in existence. Those that studied the origins of magic and the history of magical development in depth knew that the Hawthorne family was one of the few considered founding clans of magic itself. During the middle ages, when the magical arts started to develop, they, together with another family whose name eluded him at the moment, were regarded as the wielders of magic in its purest form. He had the honour of knowing old man Hawthorne before his death more than ten years before and although he had heard that he had produced a daughter, the girl seemed to never be heard of, either before or after her father's death. Could this Hope Hawthorne be that girl, or was it merely a name coincidence?

* * *

><p><em><strong>Mildred<strong>__\m(i)-ld-__red__,__mil__-__dred__\ __as __a __girl's __name __is __pronounced __MIL-dred__. __It __is __of __Old __English __origin, __and __the __meaning __of __Mildred __is __"__gentle __strength__"_

Mildred Hubble, usually the most energetic trouble-maker that Cackle's Academy had seen, sat quietly on the cold, stone floor of the potions lab and tried, like her fellow students and two teachers, to cope as best as she could with the situation at hand. Next to her, Ethel was curled in a foetal position, fast asleep and she wondered for a second if she wasn't cold. Maud and Enid were asleep, using their desks and arms as cushions. Even HB seemed to be dozing off, her thin figure gracefully slumped against the teacher's desk in the classroom, her delicate hands supporting her head, a few rebellious streaks coming loose from her usually perfect bun. She took a moment to look at Miss Hawthorne who had once again taken to pacing the classroom and briefly smiled at her. Mildred didn't exactly have the time to fully process what her young teacher had told her and she wasn't sure that she truly wanted to do it either. On the one hand, for once in her short life, the girl felt as if she did belong in the magical world. After all, if what the teacher had said was true and she possessed such amazing, special powers, how could she not belong? On the other hand, although this reinforced her sense of belonging within the magical community, it was one more thing that created a rift between herself and her non-magical roots. She knew that her parents loved her and she returned the feeling like any child should. They were nice, kind, indulged her fantasies and spoiled her rotten, but they failed to understand her. It was as if, since they had found out she was a witch, her parents couldn't help but be slightly scared of her. How would they react to the fact that their daughter had such an amazing power? Although she wanted to think otherwise, she knew that even if they appeared to be proud, they would fear her more.

Mildred sighed softly, feeling the weight of the world being placed on her shoulders and being able to do little to lift it. She was furious with herself, she was furious with Cackle's and she was suddenly furious with her parents. Why should she be worried that she was different? After all she could do nothing to change what she was born like? Her parents should know better than to visibly twitch when she talked about spells or nervously laugh when she confessed about magical pranks she had pulled with her friends. And on top of that, on top of the increasing awkwardness she had to face every single holiday while at home, now the only place where she felt like she did belong was falling apart. Things like this weren't supposed to happen at Cackle's. Here, everything was good and despite all the trouble she often found herself in, she used to feel safe within the school. That, apparently, no longer was the case. Truth be told, throughout the adventures she had been through, some more dangerous than others, Mildred had felt like she was a cat with nine lives. Whether it was defeating Agatha twice in her first year, helping Sybil escape a tornado in her second, or merely deterring Amanda Honeydew from purchasing the castle, the girl was well aware that it was almost miraculous that she had escape unscarred from all those feats. The problem was that she had a feeling that she had consumed most of her lives in her earlier exploits and didn't have much luck left. Her lives were running out.

She looked at her friends, at Ethel, at Miss Hardbroom and at Miss Hawthorne and a terrible sense of desperation overwhelmed her. They were thirsty, hungry and tired. They were weak without their magic and their bodies were becoming weaker by the minute without proper sustenance. The last drop that made her break down and allow her fears transform into bitter tears was that she instinctively knew that the worst was yet to come.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

So… what do you think? Feel free to comment/ ask questions / yell at me for being so cruel to our beloved characters / or just randomly talk about stuff, either through reviews or private messaging. I will reply to you as soon as possible.

_Next Chapter: A meeting between the doctor and the lord, a twist in what is happening within the potions lab and more than a few tears from those that are outside._


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:**

Dear reader,

Thank you for returning once more to this fanfiction.

To all those who have reviewed my story thus far, **Chrissiemusa****,****HB****rules**, **Princess****Sammi,****chocomoon,****Aleksandra****Hardbroom,** **melissa****Ivory**, and **LongVodka** (whose screen name I adore) a big THANK YOU and I hope that you will enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. I am sorry that I didn't get a chance to reply to all your wonderful words before posting this chapter. I will endeavour to do so as soon as possible, if the god of internet is on my side and makes my internet connection last for more than five minutes. Also, the promptness of this chapter is an expression of my gratitude towards you, those that encourage me to go on with this fanfiction.

As usual I need to mention **NextChristineDaae,**whose reviews are not only wonderfully motivating but also whose story**Appearances****Can****Be****Deceptive**is the finest example of fanfiction (Seriously, if you haven't read it, I urge you to do so as soon as possible… I do believe that it is mandatory reading for every single Worst Witch fan)

Before you start reading, I need to give you one piece of advice. The discussion between Constance and Hope is really important for understanding the entire plot, and although I did try to make it as clear as possible, feel free to ask whatever questions if there are things that you don't understand. Honestly, that discussion is one of the keystones at the basis of this story so I advise you to pay attention.

Yours faithfully,

Lemondrop

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><p><strong>FIRE AND ICE <strong>

**BOOK I: THE WIELDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR**

**Chapter****9:****Life****is****a****sum****of****all****your****choices****(**Albert Camus)

**Day 5**

Pain. All she could feel was mind-numbing, horrible pain, splitting her head in two, twisting and turning at her insights, tearing her flesh from her bones. Whether it was sharp like a million needles pricking at each and every nerve in her body, or dull like a wave of molten lead eating away at her skin, that awful, terrible pain was always there. She wanted to laugh and scream at the same time at the unfairness of the situation. She wanted nothing better than find a way to completely and utterly destroy Evan, to slowly but surely burn him until his very soul was disfigured and begging on his hands and knees for mercy. Instead, it was she whose every single fibre was protesting in horrible pain, whose power was so weakened that she couldn't maintain her spiritual form in the very place to which her ancestors had laid foundation and which she was sworn to uphold and protect.

Looking utterly disgusted at her translucent hands and mourning the days she had been able to have a fully-fledged physical form in the realm that was exclusively hers, Hope took a long look at the place she found herself in. Her surroundings were completely and utterly deserted and she could do nothing about it. She barely had the strength to transcend the barrier between the earthly and the spiritual realm and even that, as her ghost-like appearance proved, she hadn't been able to do fully. She hated him. She wanted to rip his hands, to claw out his eyes, to make him wither in pain. With eyes that were blood red, she sadly looked at the desolate mounds of dirt surrounding her and muddy water that showed, less clearly than usual, the realm of humans. The flames that used to burn brightly on top of every mound of dirt, a not-so-subtle celebration of the victory of the Lady of Fire over her brother, the master of Earth, were now gone and without their almost cheerful orange light the place was plunged into darkness. The only source of light was that coming from the lake and from the sad images it showed. Within its depths she saw the souls that she should have released and she mourned for every single one of them, her hatred towards her male counterpart increasing with each look of torment that she saw in the water.

Did he even realize what he had done, or was it merely another game for him? Even in her weakened form she could almost smell his scent and knew that he had, not long ago visited the place he called The Otherworld. If he had truly gone there, and she was almost positive that he had, and had looked within the depths of the water of the lake, how could he have continued in his vile pursuits, knowingly harming innocent souls in the process? She wished that she could do something, anything, for those souls whose sanctity she had sworn to protect. Evan had broken their unwritten code, had tarnished their rules and by seeking revenge and retribution he had committed the most horrible of crimes. For that, he would pay.

* * *

><p>"<em>Are you scared of me?" she said calmly from under the same old oak tree, her red skirt messily sprawled around her long thin legs as she sat on the dry grass. If at his feet the grass was greener, healthier, around her the same grass seemed dryer, more starved for water and the air was hotter, much more static. <em>

_He didn't answer but instead he watched the series of fluid movements she made to get up from the ground and willed the breeze that seemed to follow him everywhere to go to her. Her black hair rose in the air, wild long curls flying freely and she laughed. The same childish, clinking laugh that revealed a perfect set of pearly-white teeth and that had haunted him since the first time he had seen her. Evan didn't know what the hell had possessed him to come and see her once more. His rational mind told him that he shouldn't have. His brain knew how insanely dangerous the pretty, apparently harmless young girl was. But something else within him, something deeper, made him want to return. _

"_Are you scared of me?" she once again asked softly, the breeze still ruffling her hair as she closed the distance between them. _

"_No" his voice was strangled; his eyes were hungrily feeding on the beauty of her porcelain features, on the grace of her hands that were nervously gripping at the silk red skirt "Are you?"_

"_No" she admitted in a weak voice, barely above a whisper, her blue eyes looking into his deep hazel ones. Even with the light wind that he had sent to surround her, the air was so much hotter in her presence. It was as if every pore of her body was emanating pure heat. _

_Like she had done before, the girl raised her hand and placed it on his cheek. He closed his eyes and allowed the touch to overwhelm him. Her hand was dry and hot, almost feverish but he liked how her hand made his ice-cold skin feel warm. The air around her smelled of dried wild flowers and scorched earth and he inhaled it deeply, hungrily. It was such a refreshing smell, something so widely different from the one of fresh grass and rain he was accustomed to, that he relished in it. He allowed his hands to gain a life of their own and touch her slight waist, explore her bony shoulders and ultimately crush her against his chest. With her eyes closed, she didn't shy away from the touch and wrapped her long arms around his neck, her head firmly, yet gently secured in the nape of his neck. It seemed like her entire being was absorbing his emotions and in return she was giving away her own. _

_If an outsider were to watch the strangely tight embrace the two found themselves in , he or she would have found nothing out of the ordinary. To the naked eye, it was nothing more than a perfectly harmless hug. Yet Evan knew, and he was sure Hope had known as well, that it had been so much more. Holding onto the young girl for dear life, Evan could feel how his entire world was shattered and completed at the same time. _

Evan woke up, beads of sweat crowding themselves on his brow, his hands gripping the decadent satin sheets of his bed. Horrible, terrible, blasted creature, which not only haunted every moment he was awake but that now appeared in his dreams as well. What more did he have to do to finally rid himself of her? He had locked her up, he had striped her of her power, he had left her to die a miserable, slow death of thirst and starvation, so what more did he have to do to get rid of her image? As far as he was concerned, although the rational part of his mind knew it wasn't true, Hope Hawthorne was dead and gone. She was locked away in a coffin of her own involuntary choosing, pathetically waiting for her end to come. So why couldn't he seal her image away at the back of his mind and never open it again? He took a deep, frustrated breath and realized that, even if it was merely a figment of his imagination, her smell still lingered as if it was embedded in his very pores. He wanted that smell to disappear. He wanted her to disappear. Knowing that there was no chance in hell that he could go back to sleep, Evan conjured a glass of water, drunk it hungrily, relishing in its coolness and made his way downstairs. Maybe if he could find something to read, he could make her disappear form his mind. For an hour. Or maybe, if he was really lucky and the book was really interesting, for even two.

* * *

><p>They had all lost the notion of day and night and were instead measuring the passing of time according to the three daily ratios of water that Miss Hawthorne was distributing regularly. No one had any idea how the woman was measuring time, but quite frankly they couldn't have cared less. All they knew was that the ratios they received were increasingly smaller and that despite their better efforts, only four out of the ten mini-cauldrons were still filled with the liquid that was keeping them alive. Maybe it was better that they couldn't tell time. Maybe if they did know for exactly how many days, hours, minutes, seconds they had been trapped in there, they would have all lost hope. As Mildred had predicted things had become worse, not because something especially bad had happened, but because their bodies were becoming weaker and weaker by the second. With no real sustenance to support them, they were all loosing weight by the minute, and while someone like Maud could joke that once the ordeal was over she would have the figure she had always dreamed of, Ethel and Enid, who were already thin to begin with, were looking positively skeletal now. Many a time they had all looked longingly towards the potions supply cupboard and only the fact that it was locked and the key was in Miss Hardbroom's safekeeping made them refrain from storming the supplies and gulping down whatever plant was there. Of course, the idea that they could cook and eat something from that cupboard had been put forward and discussed a great deal of times and no matter how logical HB's answer sounded every time they brought the matter forward, they still hoped that one day the strict potions mistress would manage to somehow produce something editable from there. They had reached a point where they couldn't have cared less that even the plants that were supposed to be comestible were all treated with chemicals that made them last longer and thus rendered them poisonous, and had the cupboard been opened they would have all stormed it.<p>

Every time the girls asked her for something to eat, Constance felt sick. Every single time she looked upon the famished faces of the four students, she could feel her heart give a painful jolt and the fact that every time she had to give the same negative answer was killing her. She had thought of everything that was humanly possible, she had considered every available option to try to make at least some of the plants comestible, but they were all, to say the least, unfeasible. Even if she did manage to find a way to counteract the effect of the chemicals with which the plants were treated, in order to make a potion, an antidote, you needed water. And while the girls would have been more than happy to give a cauldron of their water in exchange for something to eat, to make a potion you also needed fire. She had taken to keeping a small diary of sorts, jotting down any idea she had, no matter how outlandish it was, that could possibly make some of the plants comestible, but she knew that she kept it for her own sanity rather than belief that she could actually solve the pressing problem of the food. What use was the art she had studied for so many years if she couldn't feed the girls, her girls? Although questions like that had a tendency to recur with regularity, followed by an overwhelming sense of helplessness, Constance had found out that it was better both for her mental sanity and health to try to abate such thoughts when possible.

A few minutes after they had all realized that they were trapped within the potions lab, the candles that were used to illuminate the place were all suddenly blown out, so the room was scalded in a surreal blue light, which, according to Miss Hawthorne, came from the thing that was keeping them prisoners. They were somehow grateful for the presence of that light, firstly because without it they would have lived in complete and utter darkness, and also because it had a soothing quality to it. It was a lot like the light coming from the moon and stars on a night with a clear blue sky. Also, with the full support and encouragement of the two adults, although their form tutor clearly grumbled for a bit, the four girls had transformed the potions lab and created a mock-house out of it. It wasn't that they truly needed to, but it gave them something to do and after those first twenty-something hours that were mostly spent in quiet contemplation of their predicament, they all found that, albeit they wanted to go spare, they all needed some sort of activity. After the first night their bones had been terribly sore, so the first thing they decided to do was create some sort of make-shift bed. Taking the initiative, Mildred and Ethel had worked together on that particular problem. With Hope's help they had pushed four of the desks together in the far-end corner of the room and at her suggestion, while receiving dirty looks from their form tutor, they had ripped apart their books and notebooks and made four small pillows using Sticking Potion. Good natured as always, Mildred had offered to make two pillows for the two adults as well, and while the young teacher issued her thanks and said that she didn't need one, Miss Hardbroom offered an appalled look which made her standing on the defiling of books more than clear.

While the surprising pair of Mildred and Ethel worked on creating the sleeping area and were neatly covering the desks with two of the larger towels that Miss Hardbroom kept in her cupboards in case of especially messy spills during potions lessons, Enid and Maud were charged with the creation of what had come to be known as the "living room". Parallel to the wooden bed, they had placed one of the desk and six of the chairs in a neat semicircle. At first both girls were of the opinion that their "dining table" should have been larger, but after Maud had tactfully, in a quiet voice, pointed out that there was no need to use more than a desk, they both agreed to push the remaining ones against the wall. One of the free desks, on which their water supply was placed like a most cherished resource, was exclusively used by Miss Hawthorne to prepare their ratios and was affectionately, and bitterly, known as "the kitchen". As their part of the room involved less creativity and less logistical problems than that of Mildred and Ethel, both Maud and Enid had also taken upon themselves to provide the entertainment for the group. From sheets of paper that HB freely gave them, the two girls made a deck of cards, notes for charades, and came up with a whole list of games that could be played without any props.

Although most of their time was spent talking about idle things and, as they were becoming weaker, sleeping, the four girls found that they actually enjoyed spending their time playing games and that they were becoming more and more comfortable in each other's presence. Ethel, although sometimes as stuck up as ever, especially when she was partnered with Millie during charades and their team was loosing, had learned to censure some of her thoughts and words and seemed happy enough to be included in the activities of the three best friends. For their part, Enid and Maud, at Mildred's quiet pleas, had learned to tolerate their former arch enemy and sometimes, not very often, laughed at her dry, sarcastic and potentially insulting jokes.

Regarding the two adults, the girls' attitudes towards them were also changing considerably with the passing of time. As they had all found early during what seemed like their second day in confinement, once she came down from her mighty red heels, pulled her black hair into a messy bun and pulled up the sleeves of her pristine cream blouse, Miss Hawthorne naturally, and very easily became Hope. To their surprise, she even gently encouraged them to call her by her given name and while they did keep an air of deference towards the young woman, they treated her with much more informality than they would have treated a teacher. They even went as far as to invite her to participate in their games and while, more often than not, she politely refused them, she did agree a several times to play cards with them. By comparison, none of the girls would have even dreamed of referring to Miss Hardbroom as Constance or, heaven forbid, some demeaning nickname like Connie. HB remained HB, their impassive form tutor, and was considered as the principal figure of authority within the room. As the woman withered and wasted away at an alarming speed, they did however, have a tacit agreement between themselves to try and protect their form tutor as much as possible. Surprisingly, or maybe not, Mildred was the silent champion of the Miss Hardbroom cause and the other three girls, even Ethel, although somewhat reluctantly, seemed to follow her lead. They had not only toned down their complaining about how hungry or thirsty they were, but they had also all taken upon themselves to entertain the woman whenever she seemed up to it, not through games, but with the subject she had dedicated her life to.

Constance easily recognized the girl's efforts and although she didn't show it, was immensely touched by them. She knew that, possibly apart from Ethel, none of the girls had any interest in potions whatsoever and yet they all seemed to reserve a certain amount of time every couple of hours, to ask her about ingredients, brewing methods or fully-made concoctions. Many of the questions they asked, especially those that came from Mildred, were things that she had already covered in class or that they were already supposed to know from the readings she had assigned, but once she realized what the true purpose behind the many potions-related questions was, she learned to bite back her caustic remarks. With a patience she didn't have during class, she answered their questions and in turn, encouraged them to think logically about what she was saying by asking them her own questions. Constance was surprised at how much her students were able to either deduce or remember when they weren't put under pressure, the greatest surprise being the witch she had named "the worst witch in Cackle's". On one particular instance, while Mildred was explaining determinately, albeit in a slightly shaking voice, what she believed to be the effect of mixing bindweed and hellebore in a potion, Constance could see Miss Hawthorne smiling sardonically from her usual spot at the back of the class room and the potion mistress couldn't help but remember the conversation she had had with the woman on her very first day at the Academy.

_"I talked to her after the incident and she acted like she had expected the potion to go wrong…"_

_"What are you trying to say, Miss Hawthorne?" the older woman asked in an ice cold voice, knowing fully well what the girl was implying._

_"Maybe she lacks the encouragement she needs…" Hope was unnerved. It was ironical, for her, out of all people in the world to be unnerved by something as mild as a stare but she found that she was._

_"Are you criticizing my teaching methods?" Constance asked with the same steeled tone but although she could feel the younger woman was somewhat intimidated, she refused to lower her blue eyes._

_"All that I am saying is that, maybe, she would perform better if she wasn't punished all the time" Hope replied in the same calm, almost monotone voice, looking the deputy in the eye._

_"At Cackle's we try to take a firm hand with the girls and not coddle them. We are trying to prepare them for the world" Miss Hardbroom stated simply and coldly as if what she proclaimed was a universal truth, her tone involuntarily rising up a notch._

_"By bullying them?" she asked with a certain amount of derision…._

Constance felt somewhat ashamed that someone who wasn't even a teacher in training had been right about how faulty her teaching methods were. She didn't know what to make of the younger woman and was still very suspicious of her motives, but she had to admit that Hope had behaved herself more than exemplary during the time they had been stuck in the same room. The potions mistress was well aware that the girls were trying to shield her from anything and everything that was unpleasant and she quietly cursed the disease that plagued her body and made her become someone who needed to be protected rather than protect. She also knew that as a result, they all tended to turn towards her younger counterpart and as much she hated to admit it, the woman was doing a good job. Although they all looked up to her and her word was law in the room, Constance noticed that the four students seemed to gravitate towards Hope, go to her in their moments of desolation and hysteria, talk to her about random topics, ask her about ways to abate their boredom. As much as the deputy wanted to think that this particular dynamic had been established only because the girls wrongly believed that she couldn't be burdened by mundane things, she knew that it was something else that came into play. Unlike her, Hope was approachable; not only because of her younger age but also because of how she had treated the girls from the beginning. Sometimes, while she watched how easily Miss Hawthorne interacted with the girls, her girls, she felt a pang of jealousy comparable to the one that had sent her, about four or five days earlier, raging towards the potions lab.

* * *

><p>It had taken doctor Elwood four days to locate Evan Mallard's manor. When Noah managed to find what he suspected to be the devil's lair, he was suppressed to see that the place where Evan lived was nothing but a pleasant country manor surrounded by the greenest of meadows and bounded by a thick forest. Quite frankly, Noah didn't exactly have a purpose in coming to that place. He didn't know what had made him go there; he didn't know why he wanted to confront the man so badly. Truth be told, he was well aware that he was doing something stupid, pointless and potentially dangerous. He neither believed that he would resolve any of his problems by going to see Evan nor did he think that he would manage to make the man tell him what he had done to both Hope and Constance. The only thing that he knew was that during the four days it had taken him to find the place where Evan lived he didn't feel useless. He had convinced himself that he was doing something to help them and that delusion had allowed him to hold a grip on reality and prevented him from falling into the depths of despair that comes with purposelessness. As he stood in front of the massive oak door of the manor, picturing the blond head he had only seen in his visions, he knew that his efforts would not be in vain if he managed to land a punch on the man and wipe the superior aristocratic smirk off his face.<p>

"Doctor Elwood, do come in… it is in poor taste to wait in the doorway" the door opened suddenly as if pushed by a particularly strong gust a air, and a male voice resounded calmly, a slight hint of impertinence and mockery clear in its tone.

There weren't many times that Noah had lost his temper. In fact he could count those times using the fingers of his left hand alone, and he did know that this was one of those times. As he entered what seemed to be a cosy, tastefully decorated parlour lit by a few candles and a merry fire in the fireplace, he knew that he wanted to murder the man. Evan was sitting cross-legged, on a plush sofa, in front of the fireplace, looking like nothing was wrong in the world. In fact, he looked like the very picture of relaxation and that, coupled with the man's smirk and condescending behaviour made Noah's blood boil.

"What have you done to her?" he allowed a low growl to escape his throat.

"Which one of them?" Evan said with a cool smile, calmly pouring some whiskey into two glasses and handing one of them to his agitated visitor.

"Both" Noah replied angrily, looking incredulously at the glass he had been handed and wanting nothing better than smash the said container against the man's head.

"Hope is only receiving what she was long due to receive. Call it retribution, if you would. As far as Miss Hardbroom is concerned, it is not me who is killing her…" he smirked.

"Retribution? Whatever Hope did, she only did it to protect what she cares about and she doesn't need to be judged by scum like you…" Noah instinctively defended his friend, although he was well aware that there might have been a lot of things for which Hope deserved some sort of punishment.

"Are you really sure about that, Doctor Elwood? Are you sure that your friend's intentions are so very noble?" Evan said in a low, voice , fully aware of how the doctor's good image of his friend was faltering slightly at that precise moment.

"Of course I am sure. I know her." Noah answered forcefully; perhaps too forceful, trying to quiet down the nagging voice in his head that there might have been some truth in what Evan was trying to imply.

"Even so, you know what they say: the road to hell is paved with good intentions…" the wielder of Water said softly, in a languid, silk-like tone, relishing in the way in which his words were planting the seeds of doubt in the doctor's voice.

"I know what you are trying to do and it won't work. You won't turn me against her…" Noah whispered realizing that from the moment he had decided to come see the man he had lost the battle. He knew enough about Elemental Magic to know that the Master of Water was also someone that was able to control feelings and emotions in a blink of an eye. He suddenly felt the room become too hot for him, and he tried to protect his mind, to the best of his ability, against what Evan way doing.

"You are a fool. You know nothing about her. The difference between me and dear Hope is that unlike her, I conduct my business in the open. You might not be aware of this, Doctor Elwood, but she knew my purpose from the beginning. She knew what she was subjecting herself and others to, and yet she decided to disregard the feelings of others. She even decided to disregard the feelings of her supposed best friend…" he said in the same soft voice, hardly above a whisper, his hazel eyes becoming almost white, his entire being feeding itself upon the increasingly confused feelings of his interlocutor.

"What the fuck do you mean?" Noah had truly wanted to stay quiet. He truly wanted to block what the other man was saying, and yet, involuntarily the words had rolled off his tongue and he felt like he had lost more ground in the mental war that was waging between his convictions and his doubts.

"Alas, Doctor Elwood… it is not my place to explain…You should ask Hope herself about it" he said in a sarcastic tone "If she makes it out alive, that is. If she doesn't, at least you will have the consolation of keeping your best friend and her most noble intentions on a polished pedestal forever" getting bored of the doctor's presence and their little game, also knowing that his job there was superbly done, Evan waved his hand dismissingly and the other man found himself unceremoniously thrown out of the room. Knowing that it was better for him to leave as long as he had his sanity intact, Noah bit the less than flattering remarks that were threatening to slip from his lips, turned on his heels and made his way out of the mansion.

* * *

><p>In the spirit of trying to stay active and forget even for a few minutes the dire situation in which they found themselves in, the four girls were playing an animated game of "I've Never". Although the game had started on the mild side, declarations like "I've never played with dolls", from Enid who had always been a tom-boy, or from Ethel directed towards Mildred, "I've never crashed into the Grand Wizard during Halloween", being issued, in the fervor of the game the girls had apparently forgotten that the two adults were present and their "I've never" declarations were becoming of an increasingly personal nature and tended to have a romantic character. Bottom line, locked in the potions lab or not, they were still hormonal teenage girls who attended an all-girls boarding school.<p>

"I've never… been on a date" Enid declared boldly and the others didn't even touch their cups of water, confirming the sad truth: none of them had been on a date.

"Trust me; you didn't miss a thing…" Hope mockingly intervened, a smile forming at the corner of her lips.

"Have you been on lots of dates, Hope? " Enid asked, being the one that was the most comfortable to informally using the woman's given name.

From her desk, Constance watched the interaction between the four students and their former student teacher wearily. Although she disproved of this particular kind of familiarity between students and teachers and her first impulse had been to admonish Enid for referring to the young adult in such an impersonal, familiar manner, for the first time in a lot of hours, she could finally see some colour returning to their cheeks and some laughter in their eyes. Truthfully, she could understand why the girls allowed themselves to be so familiar towards the other woman. As she stood at that particular moment, sitting cross-legged on a desk, her hair messily pulled up, and her short bell-skirt wrinkled around her thin frame, Hope didn't look anything like a strict teacher and more like a careless young girl.

"Far too many, and each one was worse than the other…" she sighed dramatically, the corners of her mouth turning upwards

"Which one was the worst?" Mildred asked while resting her tired head against the back of her chair.

"Probably the guy that took me to meet his parents on our first date" Hope lied smoothly and the girls giggled softly. Even they, as novices, knew that it was bad form to make your partner meet your parents during the first date. Of course, that hadn't been Hope's worst date. Truth be told, that hadn't even happened to her or to anyone she knew, for that matter. Yet, in the interest of keeping the peace, not having to touch on delicate subjects like orgies, paedophilia and necrophilia, all related to,in one way or another, to drug abuse, and definitely not wanting to give the prude Miss Hardbroom a heart attack, she decided to go with a PG-13 answer.

"What was the best one?" Ethel asked and adjusted her position to a more comfortable one, leaning her head on her crossed arms on the desk.

"The first one I ever went on…" Hope smiled, a soft, genuine smile that hid both affection and bitterness "My favourite book back then was an old illustrated copy of Alice in Wonderland, so the guy that I was dating made a perfect replica of the Mad Hatter's house in the middle of the forest, covered every single tree in sight with red and white paper and even had a white rabbit come and lure me into the forest… " she followed, remembering fondly how much she had laughed at seeing him dressed like the Mad Hatter, and what a wonderful first night they had spent together in that wonderland scenario.

"That's so romantic…" Maud whispered, imagining that one day she would find a boy that would do the same for her.

"Is he your boyfriend now?" Enid asked and Miss Hardbroom once again wanted to intervene, but bit back her cutting remark. She found the look of softness combined with sadness in the younger woman's eyes a refreshing change from her usually blank expression and knew that whoever that man was, Hope had loved him.

"No…" she answered kindly, the word that rolled of her tongue having an air of finality.

"But why? Didn't you love him?" Millie said with confusion, her innocent eyes widened slightly

"I did. Very much" she once again smiled at the innocence of the question and felt a certain degree of sadness upon realizing how young and unknowing the girls were "You are too young to understand it now, but one day you will see that loving someone isn't enough to make a relationship work…"

"I wonder how it feels to fall in love…" Ethel remarked, a dreamy kind of look passing on her young features and softening them considerably.

"It's beautiful and awful at the same time" Hope replied calmly, her voice quiet and subdued. Constance looked at the younger woman and realized that she couldn't have agreed more with what she had just said.

* * *

><p>As he felt Noah Elwood leave the perimeter of his dwelling, Evan couldn't help but look back on the conversation they had had. What he had told the doctor was true… The way to hell was indeed paved with good intentions, even more so for a person like Hope who refused to admit failure and defeat. Yet, it was good intentions that society judged and not the means though which they had been attained. He wasn't naïve enough to think that someone will ever consider thanking him for what he was doing. For ages, regardless of who was holding it, his position was considered that of a villain. With that thought in mind, Evan once again rejected Imogen's call and decided to turn off his cell phone.<p>

He turned his eyes to the fireplace, a glass of fine scotch in his hand to sooth his increasingly troubled feelings. Red flames merrily danced within the confines of the stone frames of the fireplace and he felt his heart being brutally squeezed in his chest. In those beautiful red flames, her flames, the essence of her character, he could see her, not like she was now, but like she had been so very long ago. He watched as they moved with surreal grace and he could remember the gentle, warm touch of her fingers upon his cold skin, the mischievous look in her wide blue eyes, and the way in which her long black hair rose like a messy halo around her porcelain white face, carried by the gentle breeze that always seemed to follow him. The memories of those eyes, those hands, that willowy body that had once been his made his heart mourn.

Despite his better efforts, for years and years he had been resentful, cruel, and cold but he had been consistent in his affections, loving none but her. All the girls he had slept with, all the Imogen Drills he had taken to his bed were either an attempt to recreate Hope, his Hope, in another woman or a futile way to replace her image with something completely different. Every time tried, he failed, for his heart was hers, and hers alone. She had claimed it ten years before on an unbearably hot day, on a lawn where grass, despite being well-tended to, was slowly dying. When he had first met the gym mistress, he only thought of what tactical advantages he could gain from being with her. Yet, as a meeting between himself and Hope was becoming more and more likely, Evan had tried, truly tried, in his anger and hurt pride, to make himself feel something, anything for Imogen. But his mind and heart, both treacherous organs, could not help but compare the two and as much as he wanted to find Imogen as being the superior creature, he was unable to. How could he, when one was a mere human being, while the other was pure fire, passion and the ultimate antithesis to what he represented? He had meant to forget her and for a long time he had imagined that he had managed to do it. It was so easy to pretend that he was indifferent to her when she wasn't there. When he couldn't see her. But then, that day when he had seen her at the window of that shabby old inn, when he had nodded at her in greeting and she had nodded back, he knew that she still had that unusual hold on his heart. A word, a look, anything would have been enough to make him decide to stop the irrational war of ambitions between them. He would have given himself freely, willingly. He bitterly realized that, even now, after all that had happened between them, he was ready to offer himself to her with a heart that was much more hers than it had been the first time they met.

With a brusque motion of his hand he made a stream of water pour into the fireplace and put out the flames. As he watched gray smoke rose from the ashes, he took yet another bitter sip of his scotch. The gray lifelessness of the smoke contrasted so very much with the beauty of the fire he had extinguished. It was such a pity that from something so striking, something so plain and ugly remained. It suddenly hit him that, like the flames she governed, she was fading away. She was turning to ashes and smoke.

* * *

><p>The only benefit to being stuck in the potions lab was that it was that only class room in the entire school that had small supply cupboard connected to it and despite the temptation that all those apparently editable plants posed for the four students, it was a small mercy that the six people there had a place where each one could be afforded a modicum of intimacy. Of course, it had been established early on that the usage of the cupboard was under strict supervision and the girls were not allowed in there without an adult present. That adult was usually Hope, who often dragged one of the four girls in there and allowed her to cry, vent, and talked her through moments of despair. Another function of the small, shelved room was its exclusive use by Miss Hardbroom and the girls respected their form tutor too much to disturb her when she locked herself in there. They did however derive some comfort that as soon as the woman disappeared behind the wooden door, the younger adult in the room seemed to follow her almost immediately. None of them, apart from Mildred who had witnessed one of HB's episodes before and wanted to erase it completely from her memory, did know what was exactly happening, but judging by the raspy, wet cough coming from the small room, they all had a pretty good idea what was trespassing behind that door.<p>

Constance didn't flinch when she heard the door slowly open for she already knew who was coming into the small room. Kneeling on the floor, her legs folded neatly under her and white hands tightly gripping the grey marble rim of a stone basin, the deputy headmistress looked ashen as rivers and rivers of blood freely flowed out of her open lips. As per usual, when it had first happened, the deputy had protested and said that she could do without any help. Yet, when Hope had pointed out, in a very dry and clearly annoyed voice, that she was the only thing holding the deputy and preventing the woman from cracking her skull open against either the floor or the shelves, Constance had to admit that she had a point. Thus, a new wordless ritual had been established. Every time she could feel her lungs burn and her mouth fill with the metallic taste of blood, Miss Hardbroom would, with as much dignity as her condition afforded her, walk towards the small cupboard and neatly position herself on the floor while allowing more and more red liquid to fall into the marble basin with each and every cough. As if on cue, the pretend student teacher would follow her into the small space and place her warm hands on her shoulders, giving her a much needed sense of steadiness. Neither woman ever said anything. Constance because she didn't know what to say, and Hope because she didn't want to insult or hurt the deputy's pride in any way. When the ordeal was over, Hope would wait for her breathing to become steadier, hand her a small cup of water and a rag to clean her lips of the remaining blood, help her up to her feet and would walk out silently.

As the ritual had to be performed more and more often and the time they spent together in the small space was becoming longer and longer every day, Constance had learned to read the younger woman's silences and usually stony expression. Most of the time, Hope's features wouldn't emote much but her eyes would say a lot about what she felt. Usually, there was a worried and slightly inquisitive look in those blue eyes. Other times, she could find some sort of morbid curiosity in the girl's eyes and although that particular look unsettled her, in virtue of maintaining the fragile peace that had been established in the potions lab, Miss Hardbroom never asked anything about it. She truly believed that for her own peace of mind, and the benefit of the students trapped with them, it would be better to remain ignorant on that particular matter. Today, unlike every other day, the girl's eyes were vacant, as if she was spacing out and Constance instinctively knew that the reason behind that look was the discussion she had with the girls.

Although the cough had stopped and Hope released her grip on her shoulders and handed her the cup of water, Constance shook her head with a slightly defeated look. Although for the moment she felt the pressure in her chest lessen for a bit, she knew that her body wasn't done just yet. With an almost supernatural grace, despite the perpetual weakness in her muscles, she dragged herself to the nearest wall and leaned her back on it for support. With an equally weak hand she opened the top buttons of her black dress, hoping that releasing the restrictive pressure on her throat would make her breathing easier and would calm the furious beats of her tired heart. Trying to take deep breaths, her head leaned against the cold stone wall; her hand involuntarily gripped at the golden pendant around her neck and found it as warm as ever. She didn't know why, but she found that particular warmth to be soothing.

Hope's eyes unwillingly widened at the sight of the thin golden chain and the round golden pendant that hung on it. She felt an immense gratitude towards whatever higher power had made the deputy close her eyes, for it took her more than an instant to compose herself and reset her expression into her usual unreadable one. She knew that she should have left the room. She knew that she shouldn't have lingered, but the sight of that small, apparently inoffensive object upon which the fate of the world, her fate, depended, made her stay. Maybe the lack of water was finally getting to her, or maybe it was the proximity of the pendant, but she felt her back sliding against the opposing wall and her knees buckling slightly under her weight. She sat on the stone floor, her legs folded under her, trying to ignore the way in which the ankh on the ring she wore burned the pale flesh of the middle finger of her left hand.

"Sometimes I wonder how things would be had I done things differently. Had I made different choices…maybe things would be different, not only for me, but for others as well" Hope's voice sounded foreign to her own ears and she wondered what had possessed her to break the mutual silence both women were so used to.

"The choices that we make are our own and there is little use in regretting them." Constance opened her eyes and measured her words carefully. It was true that she didn't trust the woman in front of her, but at that particular moment she couldn't help but pity her. She didn't think that Hope knew or noticed, but as she stayed on the floor, leaning on the wall opposite her, she looked like a small, confused child. That particular broken look of desperation, of sadness and of infinite guilt made the deputy, for the first time since she had met the girl, wish to be kind to her.

"Miss Hardbroom, if four days ago I still believed that there could be something that I could do to get us out of here, now I firmly believe that there is a high chance that we will never leave this place alive. It would be an insult to both our intelligences if we keep pretending that you don't know who I am, and although I do appreciate your kind words, we both know that we are in this situation because of me" her voice was shaking, and the air seemed to thicken considerably. Of course Constance had known since the day she had confronted the young woman that Hope was probably to blame for the situation they all found themselves in. But that fact was less real when it remained unspoken. Now, when the woman openly admitted her guilt, she felt a strong wave of resentment mixed with empathy towards Hope.

"You can't do anything, can you?" although she wasn't the kind of person to ask futile questions and although she knew the answer to what she had asked, Constance felt she needed to say something to break the silence.

"Fire doesn't work against Water. He rendered my powers obsolete. It's not a case of two opposing forces cancelling one another…it's a case of the existence of one validates the existence of the other…" she said calmly, a slightly pathetic expression of sadness apparent in her eyes. "I didn't even know that he could do this…"

"So that is why our magic doesn't work inside the room…" Constance said softly, vaguely remembering something she had read long ago about the nature of magic.

"Yes… magic is an expression of all four elements combined, inside this room there are only two elements that manifest themselves and, as such, magic can't transform"

"Correct me if I am wrong, but you are the only person in the world that has power over fire, aren't you? So if you are here in the room and can't exercise your power, then the magic of all wizards and witches in the world is gone, isn't it?" the deputy asked, her slightly muzzled brain trying to process the implications of what was truly happening. Although she was terrified at what she was discovering, her pragmatic mind couldn't help but be secretly pleased that Hope was finally giving away some much needed information about their situation.

"You are right and wrong at the same time. I am the only person who has mastery over Fire, the same way that Evan is the only one who masters Water. But I'm not the creator of Fire. Fire exists whether I exist or not. I am the only one who can wield it, who can model it and convert its purest form into its purest physical manifestation. So while in this room Fire doesn't exist, not because I can't mould it but because the spiritual energy of its opposing element is preventing it to exist, everywhere else in the world, unless the entire planet is trapped in a giant cage of Water, the element of Fire is manifested. As such, magic should exist everywhere but here, within these walls" she explained carefully, and found that sharing her ideas and problems, even with someone towards whom she had no affection, felt good, almost liberating.

"I see… but if Water does exist here, why aren't we able to use it?"

"The thing is, I don't think it does. I don't know for sure how this works, but I do have a theory. First, unless the entire castle, or the entire country, is in a state of lockdown, in which case locking the potions lab would be pointless; I think Evan keyed the field of Water to manifest itself around the highest concentration of Fire. Fire, like Water, Air and Earth, exists in everything. Whether it is animate or not, every single object has a certain energy, a certain aura, and that aura is usually formed of the four elements, each one in a different ratios, considering the characteristics of the object. Of course, in the case of the natural manifestations of the four elements, the ratio of the element it represents is much higher. For example the aura of handful of dirt, although it is mostly formed of the elemental energy of Earth, the element it represents, it still has some of the energy of the other three elements. Like everything in the world, I have an aura which, because of my affiliation to Fire is predominantly made out of my own element…"

"So if he used maximum the concentration of Fire to be the trigger of the field of Water, the field would have been created around you because you represented the maximum concentration of Fire in the castle… " Constance interrupted, realization dawning on her, her pedantic academic mind taking in all the information she was given and processing it fervently despite feeling so very tired.

"Exactly. Of course, ideally, he should have been able to create a cage of Water only around me, and me alone. And because he obviously didn't manage, I have a second theory, and for it to make sense, it is very important to make a distinction between the Elements and their natural manifestations. As I was saying before, a handful of earth isn't actually the Element of Earth, but something whose aura has a higher ratio of the energy of the Element of Earth, and as such, has borrowed some of the characteristics of the element it represents. The same is true for the flame of a candle, for the water in a pond, or even for the air that surrounds us. These are merely natural instances within which a particular element is more prominent, but it isn't the true nature of that particular element. Furthermore, as I was saying, although we can control our elements, we can't create them. They exist whether we exist or not. And it is in this instance that it's very important to understand the difference between the true nature of an element, and the way in which it is seen in the world. For example, if I decide to light something on fire… "

"…or create a barrier of flames to protect the girls from explosions…" Miss Hardbroom added, remembering the impressive way in which the woman had protected her students

"Exactly… if I decide to create flames, I can do so because I can manipulate the energy of Fire that exists in the aura of every single thing on earth and force it to become what we perceive as flames. To be more precise, I can light a candle, a piece of paper or whatever object I choose, because I can manipulate the small particles of Fire within the aura of that object and command them to take the form of flames. Basically, I can't create those particles, but I can use them… "

"So, you think that outside this wall there is a huge barrage of water, like a cascade, that prevents us from opening the door and getting out?" the deputy asked, imagining that something like a floating container of water waiting for them outside the potions lab.

"No" Hope said flatly "I wish it was that simple, because if your theory was correct, then I could use my power over the element of Fire and get us out of here. What I think he did, and I didn't know it was possible until now, is that he managed to create a physical field made of the pure energy of Water…"

"The reverse of the process that you described…So instead of using the particles in the aura of an object to create the natural manifestation of water, like a stream or a lake, he did the opposite thing. He used what we know as water to drain its aura and create a field made of the Element of Water…" Constance said calmly, stifling a raspy cough, her mind thinking of the endless implications of what she had discovered.

"That's basically it, only that he didn't only drain the elemental particles from physical water, but also from all the objects and all the living things in the room. Including your magical auras, the magic imbedded in the walls of the castle, everything… I think that although he keyed the whole process to respond to me, as the one whose aura is made mostly out of Fire, the ratio of Water in my aura wasn't enough to form a field around me and me alone. As I was saying, he can't create more elemental particles, but once I was in a place with enough elemental energy of Water surrounding me, his curse activated, drained the elemental particles of Water and locked me, and consequently, you, in the potions lab " Hope added calmly, sighing softly

"And because Water doesn't exist here, Fire doesn't exist either…" Constance concluded softly, her hazel eyes studying the floor intently.

"Yes. It's called the Principle of Opposition. The existence of something doesn't have a meaning without the existence of its opposing concept. Like Life would not exist without Death, and Up would not exist without Down… What he did, was that by draining the Elemental particles of Water from the aura of everything that surrounds us in this room, he created something like an alternate universe where only two Elements exist…" she explained

Constance once again tried to stifle a cough, feeling the now familiar pressure being built in her chest. Although there were so many more questions to ask, the revelations of Miss Hawthorne's words were weighting heavily on her mind. How could they hope to survive this event, if such forces, far beyond their capabilities, were working towards their downfall? How could she, as she was now, weak and feeble and, most importantly, without her magic, protect her students? Now that she was made aware of what was happening she knew that it was more important than ever to hold onto all the resources that they had and try to stay alive for as long as they could. Trying to fight the metallic taste of blood that was rising from her throat, she took a small sip of the water that Hope had handed her. It was cool, and made the perpetual ache in her chest and the dryness of her throat lessen. As she placed the cup back onto the stone floor, something dawned on her and she couldn't believe that Hope hadn't thought of it.

"Water…" Constance whispered, her eyes fixed on the liquid in the cup "You made the girls save water…"

"Yes, because I knew that Evan would do something related to water…" Hope replied, not understanding the potion teacher's train of thought. Initially, when she realized that they were stuck in the room, she knew that there was a high chance that Evan was the one behind it and that he would naturally use his principal Element. That's why she made the girls save water. It had merely been an educated guess. Only after hours of thought and analysis had she been able to come up with a theory that was explaining all the occurrences.

"Tell me, Miss Hawthorne, what would happen if the aura of a manifestation of one of the elements was drained of that particular element?" Constance asked, a hint of excitement and urgency clear in her raspy voice.

"I don't know. I told you that I didn't even know that you could do that…" she answered calmly.

"What do you think, though?" the deputy asked a bit more impatiently

"Well, I think that if you eliminate the essential characteristics from the aura of an object that is fully based on an Element, that object would simply disappear…I mean, logically I don't think that a flame can exist if the Element of Fire is eliminated from its aura" Hope answered

"Exactly…" Miss Hardbroom answered with a small triumphant smile "So why do we still have water?"

"We don't…" Hope answered flatly, but suddenly realized what the woman was saying and fought the urge to bang her head against the wall "We do have water…"

"What I believe, Miss Hawthorne, is that although your theory is correct, there is a limit to the amount of elemental energy that he did drain…He didn't drain an infinite amount, he drained just enough to keep you trapped and unable to use your powers. And in that same vein, I think that the curse that he used was not only keyed to take effect around the source with the highest amount of Fire energy in its aura, but also to progressively drain the things that could potentially stop the curse, in order of importance. Naturally, as we are all witches, the first thing that was drained were the Element of Water from our auras, then from the magic of the castle walls, including the pipes, and from whatever objects in the lab… " she explained in a voice that for the first time in the past days seemed alive, and hopeful.

"That's why we actually had time to save the water… the field was being formed from our magical energies and all the water that we gathered, must have been before the process reached the pipes…" Hope said, a certain degree of admiration directed at the brilliance of the woman who, despite her weakened condition, had managed to realize something that she had missed for five days.

"Yes… And this means that there is at least one instance in which the four elements manifest themselves, together…" Constance concluded and watched how the younger woman looked at the cup of water, her brow furrowed in concentration. What they had discovered was an amazing breakthrough, a piece of information that gave them much needed hope. The only problem was how could they use this new discovery to the best of their advantage?

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><p><strong>Author's note<strong>

Now, my dear readers, I do know that this chapter is slightly boring and is my very own lecture in magical theory, but in the interest of a proper dissemination of knowledge both between myself and you and between the characters, chapters such as this one, that offer lots of background information need to be written. They are also very important as far as the plot is concerned.

So, in the same vein, I hope I was clear enough in my theories about magic and that they did make sense. If they didn't, feel free to ask me or point out lapses in logic. Secondly, what do you think about the way in which the story is developed? Do you like it? Do you think that Constance and the girls will be able to get out of the lab? I know that some people were sceptical towards Mr Mallard, is your opinion the same? Anything else, feel free to contact me, whether through reviews or pm's.

_Next Chapter: Plans are formed and developed. Noah has to make a tough decision and a little more of Constance's pre-Cackle's, background is revealed_


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's Note_

_Dear reader, _

_Once again I failed to properly update this story and you have no idea how sorry I am for that. You are probably fed up with my excuses (I would be too!) but trust me when I'm saying that I did have my valid reasons for not updating this sooner. To put it simply, the past two months (or was it more?) have been the ultimate proof that karma hates me at the moment. Between coursework, exams, family and a badly sprained leg that's left me bound to my bed and full of painkillers for some weeks, I unfortunately had no time to neither write nor read fanfiction. It doesn't help that I've been stuck in a place where internet is a luxury rather than a commodity and my wireless has as many mood swings as a heavily pregnant woman *facepalm* _

_I hope you will like this chapter. Also, at some point Egbert will try to explain a little bit of magical theory, combined with a small amount of physics. My knowledge of physics is more than a little bit rusty, but I do hope that what he says will make sense. If it doesn't please tell me and I will try to correct any error that I made. Furthermore, I advise you to pay attention to the mini-history lesson the Grand Wizard gives. It will be quite important in the future *snickers* _

_Also, I need to thank all those that followed and reviewed this story. I am so grateful to you: **Chrissiemusa****HBrules****,**** chocomoon, AleksandraHardbroom,****melissaIvory**, and **LongVodka** I am incredibly sorry that I have been unable to properly reply to your reviews and I promise that I will rectify this as soon as possible. Thank you for following this! _

_Also, lots of thanks and big hugs to my big sister, NCD , who ever since I met her has been nothing but a source of support and inspiration!_

_Yours faithfully, _

_Lemondrop_

_PS: I promise that I will do my best to update sooner! I promise!_

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><p><strong>FIRE AND ICE <strong>

**BOOK I: THE WELDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR**

**Chapter 10**:** Yet in his eyes all the sadness of the world **

**Those pleading eyes that both threaten and adore **

(Andrew Loyd Webber- The Phantom of the Opera)

**Day 7**

Hope watched her surroundings carefully and cursed her decision to once again come to the familiar place. She didn't have the faintest idea as to why she kept wasting her energy to see it. Maybe because she believed that it made her complete? Maybe because she needed a reminder of what she had been and of what she could do? She looked at her translucent hands and realized that then, more than ever, she could see the ground under her feet through her extended limbs. Maybe not.

Her presence there brought her neither comfort nor a sense of completion. On the contrary, it was a bitter reminder that she was fading. It was an awful proof that she had lost. That she had been defeated through sheer cunning. Yet, she could not conceive not visiting the musty old place. That place, which at its best was lit by the eternal flames she governed, was embedded in her blood, in every fibre of her body, and she couldn't just desert it. No matter how miserable it made her feel, no matter how weak it made her appear she knew that despite all rationality, until the day she would vanish into nothingness, she would come each day and see the wretched state to which her beloved world had been reduced to.

As she looked at the lifeless surroundings, the woman unconsciously moved towards the lake. Like everything there, the lake's clear blue waters were jet black. That mirror towards the world of humans was almost static, the images that used to flow so gracefully each and every second, were lingering longer, as if the power of the water was in itself failing. While watching how more and more souls were dying within their mortal confines, Hope felt a surge of rage towards Evan. She had always believed that when her ancestors had created the place, they had placed the lake as a tacit admission of the interdependency of the four elements. Maybe they had wanted to show that their existence would have been meaningless without the existence of their counterparts. She hated that water. She hated what it represented and she loathed what it showed. Since time immemorial the lake had been a way for the Master of Fire to know which souls needed to be granted redemption. In its depths she had seen the face of each and every person she had taken. Now she hated seeing the faces of those poor humans for whom she could do nothing. How could she save them when she was unable to save herself?

She looked at their tormented faces and pitied each and every one of them. How many of them knew about that place? How many of them suspected that their spiritual existence was ending at that very moment? How many believed? The existence of what Evan liked to call The Otherworld was one of those secrets that humans spend their life trying to unravel. Many a scientist had tried to explain what comes after death. Many of the world religions tried to make their followers believe in the existence of places like heaven or hell. They were all wrong and right at the same time. The study of death, the study of the place her ancestors constructed came down to one question. That was a question which had plagued philosophers for years: If a tree falls in the woods does it make a sound if no one is there to hear it? Like with many things in the world, the power of unconditional belief was the cornerstone of the study of death. On the one hand, there were those who could open their minds and spirits and believe that there was something else beyond the earthly confines. On the other hand, there were also those who believed that if no one hears the sound made by the tree falling, then the tree makes no sound.

In their stubbornness and eagerness to know more about their own ultimate mortality, human have tried to label the place. They had tried to romanticize its existence and give it a name. Fools. In their attempt to expand the boundaries of their consciousness, they had, in fact, tightened them. Even her counterpart, the Master of Water, fell into this pitfall. The name he had chosen was romanticized and an entirely untrue label. Our entire existence is made of labels. We need to use labels to understand the world and in our desperation to absorb such knowledge we usually lose its very essence. Hope knew that the reason behind people's complete and utter lack of understanding of that place was not an inability to expand one's consciousness, but it was single-minded obstinacy. People were far too reluctant to throw away what they knew, they were far too afraid to give away the security of what had been drilled into their minds by religion or philosophy, to allow themselves to experience the truth about their own mortality. That was why most people were unable to see her when their end was near. How can you name something that has no name. How can you name something that is not supposed to be named?

Her gaze was transfixed by the shining surface of the lake. Now, it was the only thing that looked even remotely alive in that place. That shimmer of light, although feeble, brought her some comfort. It was at that lake that her own understanding of death stopped. She did not know what was on the other bank…she did not know what happened to the souls that she brought to the realm after they went beyond the border of the water. All that she did now was that beyond that place you couldn't find angels floating on fluffy clouds. Or maybe you could. Maybe she herself fell into the pitfall that other humans did and was unable to see what was on the other bank.

She was distractedly looking at the surface of the water when she saw it. An image she would have never wanted to see. An image that was immediately burned into the depths of her brain. From the shining surface she could see a young girl smiling. Her hair was plaited and her blue eyes were shining with mirth. Mildred. Hope's heart gave a painful twinge and she wished that, for once, the mirror of water was wrong. She knew that, had things been normal, she would have visited the student, showing her true form and would have granted her eternal redemption. But now, Mildred, if what those hateful, blue depths were right, was about to expire and her soul would be torn from its earthly confines with no mercy. Her soul would disappear together with the girl's life.

As Elemental Masters, both Evan and herself knew that the soul of a person was sacred, was untouchable. They also knew that, like all those that had held their titles beforehand, they were bound to protect the soul of any living human and although they did have the right of judgement, they were never to abuse their powers. Essentially, although similar in nature, their duties, like their opposing Elements, were widely different. To put it simply, in crude terms, Hope represented what humans believed to be Death, and Evan what they knew as Life. Despite this apparently simple conceptual explanation, in practice, their roles were much more complicated. Hope wasn't some hag with a scythe that went around murdering people for her own pleasure and Evan wasn't some especially talented midwife. No, their roles, like much of their existence were beyond the perceptions of ordinary humans and were far more intricate than the labels they had been given suggested.

The soul isn't something that is tangible. The soul isn't something that has an expiration date

It also certainly isn't something that is inherently good or bad. While still present, the soul does not govern the mind. This has been one of the great pitfalls in the various considerations on the nature of souls exposed by certain religions. Sadly enough, some such human-made institutions had gained earthly profit at the expense of a poor explanation of the characteristics of souls. They had threatened their followers into submission with judgement, with spiritual punishment and with a macabre view of a place they most often referred to as hell. Or, if you are as pragmatic as the Catholic faith and feel the need of some sort of supplementary funding each time someone commits a sin and wants a clean slate, then the concept of purgatory can be introduced. Poor foolish humans, trying to take advantage of something they weren't able to understand.

She looked up, managing to tear her gaze away from the dark blue water and her eyes were met with as sight she was in no mood to see. The bastard. The betrayer. Judas. He was standing right across from her, on the other bank of the lake, his skin giving off an unearthly white glow. His eyes looked at her, the almost white irises being a clear mirror for the thousands of conflicting emotions that were present in his soul. Hope could feel him studying her with interest and she felt her skin tingle and her heart clench painfully in her chest. Oh how she wished things were different! How she wished things _could_ be different! Evan looked at her transparent form and felt his heart stop, anger and relief washing over him. She was alive. Weakened but alive

"Do you know what you did? How could you?" her voice was ethereal and the venom and judgement behind her words made his heart mourn with sorrow and his blood boil with fury.

"This…" he gestured, feeling his anger and pride win, "is not entirely of my own making, madam…" he murmured and saw her flinch, her blue eyes involuntarily lowering themselves under the weight of his words. "You know what you have to do, Hope. You know how to put an end to it. All you need to do is to give up" once the words left his mouth he hated himself

"Never" she whispered slowly, hatred and determination clear on her ghostly features.

As she disappeared into nothingness, clearly unable to hold her form any longer, her last word floated like a grim sentence into the non-existent air. His heart threatened to beat out his chest and he felt his eyes fill with tears. How was it possible to both love and hate someone so much at the same time?

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><p>Noah had always been an optimist. He needed to be when dealing with all the less than savoury things that were constantly happening in his life. When he had been five he had really wanted the new automatic plane model. He had hoped he would find it under the Christmas tree up to the moment he unwrapped his presents and discovered, to his disappointment, that he did not. When he was faced with his first dying patient during med school he had hoped that the man would survive up to the moment he died. Ever since his mother had been struck by the strange, merciless illness that seemed to now govern her very existence, he had been hoping to find a cure. The doctor always found that clinging to one's hope was incredibly therapeutic. Yet at that precise moment, as he found himself in the bar of the shabby old inn, cursing himself for his own stupidity and trying to abate, as well as he could, the effects of Evan's mind rape, Noah's optimism seemed to be faltering.<p>

Although he sorely hated to show it and in spite of making him vulnerable, Doctor Elwood was a man who cared deeply and whose devotion towards those he cared for was ingrained in the very fibres of his being. In that particular case, as he was nursing a terrible headache and a glass of scotch at the bar of the old inn, his loyalties were clashing in an awful manner.

First there was Hope, his friend, his protector and, most importantly, his rock. For years and years, the younger woman had been the reason for which he carried on. She had indubitably been the one whose strength made him stronger, whose unfaltering loyalty gave him a sense of self and whose unrelenting nature had taught him that giving up is not an option. He was grateful to her for that. He was grateful to her for everything, for he was well aware that without the brunette waltzing in his life at that most wretched time, he would have succumbed to his own fears and doubts and would have ultimately committed the direst of acts. Somehow he owed his life to her. He was aware that she, at some unconscious level, knew it as well. For once he wished that he could say that he truly knew his best friend, that he knew her wishes and desires, her hopes and fears. He did not. When he thought about the past ten years he realized that all that he truly knew about the woman that was his best friend were things that she had allowed him to know.

On the one hand, he was certain that that his affection towards Constance Hardbroom was more than a passing thing. He had never been one to fall in love quickly or to attach himself to a woman passionately. But the potion mistress stirred in him feelings that he had never felt. Feelings that were of a gentler nature than he had ever expected to posses. He could not understand the hold that the potion mistress had on him for he had never experienced anything like that before. Of course there was a certain amount of physical attraction, for in his eyes the way in which her black hair and hazel eyes contrasted with her pale skin was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, but there was so much more. Even if he had known her for a short while he felt like he could understand her feelings. He admired her courage and the noble, quiet way with which she dealt with the hardships that had been thrown at her by a cruel fate. He loved her devotion towards the academy, her loyalty towards her students and her obvious dedication to her job.

"Where's your little lady, sir?" Noah found his train of thought interrupted by the crotchety voice of the inn keeper who was now busying himself with soiling some glasses in a plastic hand basin filled with brown-coloured water. Upon seeing the manner in which the inn-keeper washed his glasses his appetite for his scotch was suddenly cut shot.

"She is otherwise engaged" He answered dryly hoping that the man would remove both himself and the offending recipient as soon as possible.

"So she's left you…" the older man answered with an amused gleam in his eyes, not understanding the subtleties in the doctor's voice. "Seen loads of women like her. They are the work of the devil… too pretty for their own good and treacherous as hell. As changing as the wide blue sky. Had one myself, you know… "

For a moment Noah wanted to remind his current landlord that, as he had said on many previous occasions, his relationship with the younger woman was of an entirely different nature than romantic. Yet, he decided against it. If the man hadn't been able to understand the concept on the previous occasions it was highly unlikely that he would do so at that precise moment. As such, instead of chastising him for his crass assumptions, Noah let the older man be.

"She was very beautiful… like your lady. But her hair was made of gold and her eyes were as green as the grass on the ground. Wicked woman, she was…"

Noah wasn't in the slightest bit interested in what the inn keeper was saying. What caught his attention was the way in which the man was telling his story. Despite his penchant for picking up on the emotions of others, the doctor was often unable to understand the emotions he often felt flowing from other people. It wasn't that he was unable to feel, for Noah Elwood felt deeply, but he was too much of a social recluse to have a fully-fledged rage of emotions in his arsenal. As such he had missed it. But now, as he looked up from his drink, he observed the way in which the old man was recalling the times he had with that woman. On his wrinkled face a strange look had settled and Noah, with the tenacity of a scientist, broke the man's expression into small bits. Mouth turned downwards in a scrawl, a sign of disgust. Nostrils flaring slightly, obvious anger. Yet in the man's coal-like eyes he could see a completely different picture. He could see lust, desire, and affection. He could see love. This discovery would have meant nothing to him if he hadn't been almost certain that he had seen that particular expression before. Of course, he could have been wrong. After all, having to fight for one's sanity wasn't exactly the best moment to conduct any form of observation. But he was certain that he had picked up the same emotion before. Two days before, in fact. And back then those particularly conflicting feelings were embedded into the face of a blond-haired, twenty-seven year old man.

He allowed the magnitude of his discovery to wash over him. He loved her. Evan loved Hope. He fought the urge to once again curse at his best friend for hiding such an important fact from him. He was sure that Hope was well aware of Evan's feelings for her. She was much to pedantic and obsessed about her arch-enemy to miss such an important part of his existence. So why didn't she say anything about it? Why did she feel the need to hide the man's affection from him, her best friend? That he did not know. And knowing Hope he would never know. Truthfully, at that particular point he was slightly unnerved about what his best friend could and would do. Maybe it was indeed the right choice to go to the academy and tell everyone there all that he knew about her. Or maybe not. If he somehow disturbed her plan or if she somehow found about his betrayal, he was certain that she would find a way to make his life miserable. She wouldn't hurt him, of that he was confident, but she would find a why to ensure that he knew how displeased she was.

That was how things were with Hope. She was his best friend, his only friend, really, and he loved her for that. He loved her for all that she had done for him and he was grateful to her. But never once did he think himself to be her equal. Sure, he advised her. He freely spoke his mind and chastised her when she was wrong, but there was an invisible line that had been drawn long ago and he was sure that, friend or not, she would be more than angry if he crossed that particular line. The problem with Hope, and he supposed with Evan as well, was that she was powerful. Too powerful. Things that took others years to learn were like second nature to her. She could do things that others would never dream of ever being able to do, and even him, her confidante wasn't exactly aware of the full extent of her powers. He couldn't say that he was scared of her, for he wasn't. He was scared of what she could do, not to him, but to others around him. And the worst part was that, knowing her, she would do it in such a way he would never even be able to tell that she did something. His mind involuntarily conjured a picture of the two people, apart from Hope herself, for whom he cared: Constance and his mother.

The matter could be put quite simply: should he go tell Amelia everything that he knew and thus maybe, with her help, find a way to get Constance and Hope out? Obviously, if he had been certain that nothing Hope was trying to do would have been disturbed, he would have gone to the academy in a heartbeat. As such, another question arouse: "Would he be disturbing any of Hope's plans by coming clean in front of the headmistress?". As much as he wanted the answer to be a firm "no", he was fairly certain that it wasn't. After all, there had to be some obscure reason for which Hope hadn't told anyone else but him (some of) her secrets. Thus he could infer that if he did what she would surely consider as betrayal, she would be more than upset. Of course, Hope wouldn't be able to do anything that was fatal to Constance, that much he knew, but could he risk his mother's life? And even if Hope didn't decide to extract any form of revenge on him, was he prepared to live a life where he would second guess his best friend for anything and everything bad that would happen to him? Probably not. And yet, neither Hope or Constance would have any chance of surviving if he didn't do something. The best possible outcome would happen if he could convey the information that he knew in such a way that Hope would never know that it came from him. If only he could do that. Then it dawned on him. He could do it. He had never tried, but he was fairly certain that he could. Taking a deep breath, Noah closed his eyes and allowed his mind to wander.

* * *

><p>Like every time, Constance didn't look up to see who had followed her into the supply cupboard knowing that it must have been Hope. Yet, when she felt the two hands touch her shoulders in a very different way than Hope's confident, steadying grasp, the potions mistress knew that it wasn't the younger woman that stood behind her. This touch was more tentative, much gentler and the hands placed on her bony shoulders were trembling slightly. Involuntarily, Constance felt her body stiffen and the warmth of the touch disappeared for a second before returning much more confidently.<p>

"She is asleep, Miss Hardbroom" Mildred offered quietly, her voice clearly showing her embarrassment "She never sleeps… so we thought that it would be better if we didn't wake her up…" Mildred felt stupid for having to explain herself. After what she suspected to be close to seven days in that potions lab, they should have been past explanations. Yet, no matter how weak and frail she appeared to be, the woman in front of her was still Miss Hardbroom, her terrifying, formidable potions teacher.

A few moments earlier when Miss Hardbroom had walked towards the supply cupboard and had closed the door behind her, Ethel and Mildred who had been quietly playing a game of cards while Maud and Enid slept soundly, weren't surprised. After all, the number of times their form tutor was using the supply cupboard had been increasing each and every day. Yet, when they saw that Hope hadn't followed their teacher as she always did, they turned and saw the woman sleeping quietly in a slightly uncomfortable position, her head placed on the desk she had claimed as her own personal space and her features much more relaxed than they were when she was awake. It was then that something which had been a normal occurrence turned more problematic. On the one hand, they both knew that Miss Hawthorne had a very good reason for following their potions teacher into the supply cupboard every time she went in there. Furthermore, that was the second time in the past seven days that they had seen Hope sleep so she must have been exhausted and neither of them wanted to wake her up. On the other hand, they both knew that HB wouldn't want to show weakness in front of anyone, much less one of her students. It was in that moment that Mildred felt a surge of courage, and with a quiet, meaningful look towards Ethel, stood up and followed her form tutor. Mildred had rationalized that Miss Hardbroom would be less disturbed to see her there as she had seen one of her attacks beforehand, but, as she felt the woman's body go rigid under her touch, she knew that it wasn't the case.

"It's alright…" Constance replied between raspy coughs, feeling how mortified Mildred was and hating herself for putting the girl in such a position "I'm… sorry…that you have to witness this…" she whispered

"No… I mean… you don't have to be…" Millie stuttered, her hands becoming firmer as she steadied the increasingly swaying body of her potions mistress.

"Mildred… go…" Miss Hardbroom said in as firm a voice as she could manage, disliking the empathy in the student's voice. She didn't want, she didn't need, pity from anyone. Much less from one of her students.

"No" the girl answered simply, a hint of stubborn defiance clear in her voice.

Constance wanted to chastise the girl for disregarding a simple order but found that she could not. Firstly, she didn't have the strength to argue with anyone. Secondly she knew that Mildred being there had nothing to do with the girl wanting to embarrass her, or show pity towards her. The girl's motives were as straightforward and pure as they always were: she only wanted to help. As much as she wanted to disregard it, she knew that the worst witch in school didn't have a single selfish bone in her body. She might have been impulsive, reckless and a terrible spell-caster, but she wasn't selfish, she never had any hidden agendas, she never relished in seeing others suffer or making them hurt. So rationally Constance knew that Mildred deciding to be there had nothing to do with her wanting to show superiority, or pity towards the teacher that had tormented her for almost three years. The past seven days had dispelled any reason that she might have had to dislike the girl. If before she could have argued that Mildred's escapades were either a cry for attention or a conceited effort to prove herself to be better than everyone, she knew now that it was far from being the truth.

She remembered Amelia's traditional advice of "we must open our doors and our hearts" on the first day of every school year and Constance realized that she had done neither for the girl. From the first moment she had seen the girl crash into the Academy's trash cans, she had perpetually tried to close any doors Mildred wanted to open. She had, sometimes wrongly, punished her, given her countless detentions, and tried to get her expelled on countless occasions. She had never given the girl a proper chance. And yet, it was Mildred who had approached her at the end of last year when she wanted to leave Cackle's, it was Mildred who thwarted Amanda Honeydew's attempts at buying the school and it was Mildred who was now standing behind her, quietly watching her how she expelled blood from her lungs and prevented her from falling. Mildred. Not Ethel, the girl she had praised and made things easy for. But Mildred, the student she had belittled and openly disliked.

Mildred might not have been the brightest of students, the cleverest in potions, but she was clearly the superior human being. Constance really wanted to believe that her dislike of the girl was justified by the fact that she had her head in the clouds, wasn't disciplined and was far too idealistic for her own good. In fact she didn't like the girl because Millie reminded her of how she used to be. She used to be as happy, as idealistic and as unable to hold a grudge as her worst student was. But life happened and they had converted the happy, careless young Connie into the embittered, unfeeling shell of a woman she was didn't want that for Mildred, or for anyone else for that matter, and realized that had the girl been weaker, had she had less faith in her instincts and convictions, had she been more like Constance herself when she had been fifteen, she would have managed to break the girl. But in that respect, Mildred wasn't like her.

Her student, with her naïve, simplistic view of the world as being made up only of good and evil, and her inherent kindness, was strong. Stronger than she had been. Mildred's faith in her own good intentions and her belief that everything had a happy ending were unfaltering. No matter how many times she was scolded, how many times she was punished for the rash actions that stemmed from her beliefs, the girl took it all in her stride and refused to change. While that could be seen as a show of conceit in others, Constance knew that it wasn't the case as far as Mildred was concerned. The student didn't let go of what she believed in not because she believed herself to be superior, in fact the girl had a pretty low self esteem, but because it was in her innocent and kind nature to do the right thing. Asking Mildred to stop helping others, even if she endangered herself in the process, would be like asking her to stop breathing.

"Thank you, Mildred…" she whispered weakly, positioning herself against the wall to regain some stability before she attempted to get up on her feet. She had said that before, rarely, but she had never truly meant it. Even when her student had saved her from being carried away by the boat the previous year, she had found fault with her actions. She had thanked Mildred then, not because she had been thankful, in fact she believed that Mildred's decision of bringing her cat along during the trip had been the thing that made her need rescuing in the first place, but because she needed to be polite and show some civility. She had said those words of gratitude as a formality back then, but now, she truly meant them. Judging by Mildred's bright smile and twinkle in her blue eyes, the girl knew it too.

* * *

><p>The gloomy silence that had been present in the staff room for the past days, seemed to be even more pressing and pregnant. The presence of the two wizards although it had been comforting in the beginning, seemed to have lost that particular quality with every failed attempt at vanishing the field of magic that was still trapping the two fellow members of staff and four students in the potions lab. Miss Cackle, despite her attempts at being as cool and collected as she could manage, was slowly but surely losing her grip on her own emotions, and seemed to have aged ten years during the last days. Davina, who in support of the headmistress tried to behave like an adult for a change, was increasingly hysterical, her nervousness clearly shown in the massive amounts of flowers she ate every single day. As for Imogen, although like her fellow staff members she tried to keep her head, she found that her grasp on reality was slipping away every time that she looked at the blue field of magic and with every call that Evan didn't return.<p>

"Did you manage to get a hold of Mr Mallard, Imogen, dear?" Davina's shrill voice broke the silence of the room as Imogen entered and took her usual place next to the fire.

Eight eyes in the room looked up from what they were doing and waited for her response. She shook her head dejectedly, hating Davina for a moment for putting her on the spot like that. Truth be told, the fact that Evan wasn't answering any of her calls was worrying her. Where was he and why wasn't he there when the school needed him most? After all, he was the benefactor of the school and, going by the huge amount of money that he had recently invested in Cackle's, he had a very good reason to ensure the school was running smoothly. Furthermore, her past realization that there was a very good chance the student potions teacher and her boyfriend knew each other didn't do anything to settle her nerves. She had gone through every single memory that she had of the woman and had chastised herself for not paying much attention to Miss Hawthorne. All that she knew of her was that she was in her twenties, presumably studying potions and that the girls kind of liked having potions with her, which, considering the alternative, wasn't saying much.

"_If I think a bit about it, she kind of reminds me of you…"_ The words she had said to Evan during what had been their last night together were incessantly circling through her mind. They were true. Hope Hawthorne did remind her of Evan, but why? Yes, they did have the same, slightly superior, air about them and they did use the same cold politeness but there was more and Imogen couldn't put her finger on it. As much as she hated to admit it, the entire situation was very suspicious to say the least.

Two people who knew each other coming to Cackle's in the span of less than two months and then the entire blue field affair happening? While her heart didn't want to admit that Evan might somehow be involved in the entire thing, her brain begged to differ, and as much as she wanted to follow her heart on this one there was too much at stake for her to do so. So what was connecting this seemingly unrelated events? Why would Evan go so far as to avoid the academy in order to hide the fact that he knew the student teacher?

No matter how hard she tried she couldn't come up with a plausible answer. There was nothing special about Hope, apart from the obvious fact that she was a witch. And the fact that there was something about her that was distinctively Evan-like…Maybe she was his sister. But then, why would he hide the fact? Although, if she were his sister his investment into the school would be justified. He wanted to make sure that his sister would pass the examination process and he wanted to bribe the school. But then why would he hide their relationship? It wouldn't make any sense for someone to give a bribe without saying what he gave a bribe for. Plus, if she indeed were his own flesh and blood, then wouldn't he be worried about what was happening to her? From the countless voice-mail messages that Imogen had sent she was pretty sure that he was well aware of the situation at Cackle's. Even if Hope was his estranged sister he would have come to see how she was faring. No, it wouldn't make sense for them to be related in such a way.

Imogen could feel a headache starting at the back of her head and she was tempted to let the matter rest. After all, Evan couldn't avoid her forever and when she did have a chance to talk to him she would ask about the entire affair. As she was entertaining these thoughts and was toying with the idea of reading one of the magazines in the staff room to give her brain a well-deserved break, it struck her. Evan could avoid her forever if he so chose. Apart from his phone number and the address he had written on the check he gave to Miss Cackle they knew nothing about him. Nothing whatsoever. And even with those, she was pretty certain that he had more than one house and could thus make sure that, if he so wished, no one from the academy would ever be able to find him. This realization was the equivalent of a bucket of cold water thrown on Imogen and she involuntarily felt her body shiver for a second.

All that time, all those days, she had tried to think of all that she knew about Miss Hawthorne to try to connect her to Evan. She had not once tried to think about what she knew about him. Imogen tried for a second to focus on her boyfriend and make a mental list of all that he had revealed about himself during the past month. Truth be told it wasn't much. His name was Evan Mallard. He lived…somewhere… in a big house. He liked… What did he like? He was charming. He was wealthy… but why? His favourite food was…what? How old was he? Late twenties? Early thirties? He had an Italian grandmother, who she had never met. Actually she had never met anyone who was even remotely connected to him. No friends, no family, nothing. She furrowed her brow and tried to remember if he had ever mentioned any friend, any acquaintances… anyone, really, and found that he had not. So what did they talk about during those lengthy dinners? Well… he didn't really talk much. She was the one who did the talking and he would comment rather sparingly on whatever captured his interest. Mostly the school. She realized that even after sleeping with the guy for more than a month she knew almost nothing about him. In fact, she knew as much about him as she knew about Miss Hawthorne.

So why would she assume that the two people were similar? To her shame, she knew close to nothing about either of them, so why did she have this certainty that they were like each other? Why? Their air, their demeanour, their obvious wealth? Imogen was certain that it was far more than that. Something she did not understand, something that she couldn't put her finger on.

She interrupted her interior monologue and looked at the others in the room. Davina was quietly munching on some fruit salad while Miss Cackle was reading some school papers, the absence of her deputy forcing her to engage more and more in administrative issues. The two wizards were talking about the uses of dragon blood and it seemed that they were disagreeing on the uses of a particular kind. Then it dawned on her. There was something else that was similar about both Evan and Hope. Something that she had taken for granted. They were both able to do magic.

For a moment she considered discarding that particular idea because there was nothing unusual about two people coming to a witch academy to be able to do magic. Frankly, her entire rational was simply a string of circumstantial suppositions, probably easily explained. She once again considered putting the entire thing to rest, but something inside her urged to think more. Something inside her told her that he needed to think more… that she needed to connect all the dots. Magic. They were able to do magic. So what? Why was that important? Why did she feel like this obvious, irrelevant fact was the key to the entire thing? She closed her eyes for a second and then she could see it. Clearly. Miss Hawthorne raising her hand in the air, long, angry streaks of fire coming from the tips of her fingers, covering Mildred's exploding cauldron.

Fire? Why was that relevant? She had never seen Evan do anything even remotely similar. In fact, she had never seen Evan do magic. Period. She had known that the woman was a witch, so normally she would have some sort of power. So why was did she feel that the picture of Hope covering Mildred's cauldron with those streaks of flames was very important. It wasn't. She was used to see weird things so she shouldn't have been surprised to see the young witch do something weird. She had seen this type of thing before. Unless… Unless, her mind was actually trying to tell her that she hadn't.

"Miss Cackle can you use magic to create fire?" Imogen asked naively, thinking that if somehow her subconscious was trying to show her something she should at least ask.

"What do you mean, dear?" Amelia raised her head from her papers and looked at her gym mistress with a contrite expression.

"Can a witch wave her hand and just create flames?" Imogen asked, her left hand reproducing the movement she had seen Hope make, being well aware that all the eyes in the room were upon her.

"Well… there are spells to set something on fire, but they require a lot of concentration and we don't teach them in school…" Amelia offered helpfully, still not understanding why her gym mistress would ask such a thing.

"But can you do it without a spell?" the younger woman asked calmly. Being in the proximity of witches for the past years she knew how a spell looked like. She also knew how one could cast a spell and she was fairly certain that it wasn't what the student teacher had done.

"Not to my knowledge… No…" the headmistress said calmly, her heart giving a painful jolt. Constance would have been much better at answering this kind of questions.

"Why do you ask, dear lady?" Egbert Hellebore intervened, his eyes gleaming strangely.

"I saw her do it…" Imogen whispered carelessly, her eyes unfocused for a moment.

"You saw who, do what, Imogen?" Amelia asked now slightly worried about the mental state of her youngest teacher.

"Hope… during her first class…" Miss Drill answered, trying really hard to get her fuzzy brain back into focus.

"What did you see her do?" Davina asked in a shrill voice, now paying attention to the conversation as her friend had been mentioned.

"Mildred's cauldron was about to explode, I think, and she waved her hand in the air and these limbs of flames appeared out of nowhere and covered the cauldron!" Imogen explained

"Are you certain that's what you saw, dear lady?" the Grand Wizard asked calmly.

"Yes! I'm certain!" Imogen said in a brisk tone

"Maybe she just said a spell…she is in college, so she should know how to set things on fire…" Davina replied innocently not exactly understanding the serious look that both the Grand Wizard and the headmistress now possessed.

"She didn't! I know a spell when I see one! You said that it requires a lot of concentration right? To set things on fire, I mean" at this Imogen turned her head towards the headmistress who nodded slightly, her eyes wide "She was relaxed… she just waved her hand like this…" she quickly demonstrated, slightly excited that she had discovered something that could be of use to free the students.

"Maybe she did it non-verbally…" Miss Bat tried again, not really understanding why everyone made such a big deal about something that seemed normal

"She didn't set anything on fire, Davina. If Imogen is right, she created fire. Out of nothing." Amelia replied in a grim tone, the magnitude of the situation hitting her full force. She had never heard of anyone being able to do such a thing. No one.

"But Constance does that too, doesn't she? When she lights the fire under the cauldrons of the students?" Miss Bat once again asked, still not understanding

"Dear lady, that is a different thing…" Egbert said in a pompous voice, as if he was lecturing about the different species of dragons to a not so bright student. "The spell for setting something on fire uses two processes, which is why it requires a great deal of concentration and practice. Firstly, one needs to infuse the particles of the object they want to light up with energy so that they can move quicker and as such emanate more heat, and, secondly, even if it done non-verbally, one needs to concentrate their energy precisely on a particular object, or objects, for obvious reasons. What it is more important is that you cannot set everything on fire. When you are using the spell you don't create fire, you just make the particles in the object move faster and let nature take its course when they reached a particular level of energy. That is why the spell works only on solid objects. They are the only type of objects that can be set on fire because their particles are the only ones that are close enough to each other to be able to collide and emanate enough heat. Also, you can only set something on fire if the material from which the object is made is able to be set on fire… "

"So she couldn't have done that?" Davina said in a small voice now understanding why everyone was so amazed by what Imogen had said.

"No… Magic bends the laws of physics, Davina, but can't completely invalidate them. Magic works with the natural way in which this world works but does not go against it… When we transform an object into something else, we energise each and every molecule in that object to take the form that we wish. That is why you have pairs of objects that can be transformed easily into one another. It is easier to transform an object into something that has a similar shape or consistency than into something completely different. When we levitate something, we don't annul gravity but be use a blanket of energy to make the object lighter… what Miss Hawthorne did is…" Amelia allowed her voice to trail off, being painfully aware that had Constance been there she would have been able to offer a better explanation. But Constance wasn't there. She was stuck in a room with a person who was able to do things that were unheard of. Amelia felt unprepared to deal with such a situation.

"She absolved the laws of physics…" Imogen declared softly, once again amazed by how magic worked.

"That she did… but how was she able to do it?" Algernon intervened for the first time.

"There is a legend that says that there were once two families…" Egbert started in his trademark monotone voice

"Egbert, surely you don't think that the girl is…" Algernon interrupted knowing exactly what his friend wanted to say.

"I had my doubts up to now, but with what Miss Drill said, I am certain that I was right in the first place" he answered in a calm voice, more serious than the one that he usually used, and his friend was immediately quieted

"As I was saying, there were once two families that were said to stand at the foundation of magic as we know it today and they had been at war for centuries. One of them was the Hawthorne family. Both families had power that extended beyond belief and they could do things that no one else could. It is said that they controlled vast lands and that their rule was ruthless. Every woman, man or child, every magical person, had to pledge themselves to them on pain of death. Legend has it that the power of the other family came from an object, an object that made the person who had it so powerful that he could defy death itself. For years and years the Hawthorne family tried to find this object thinking that they could defeat their enemies with it but were unsuccessful, until, one day they asked a brave king by the name of Arthur aided by his knights and an equally brave wizard to look for the object. They called it the Holy Grail…Some say that the purest of the knights, Galahad, found it and that the other family was defeated… others say that it was never found and that even today the two families are waging war against each other…But this, dear ladies, is only a legend and it would be unwise to draw any conclusions from it. I myself was acquainted with old Hawthorne before he died and I can assure you that he was a most delightful chap! Although the girl's powers are quite strange." the Grand wizard finished and looked at the surprised faces of those in the room.

"Was the name of the other family, Mallard?" Imogen asked shyly. The Grand Wizard's, wide-eyed, shocked look of recognition was enough to confirm her suspicions.

* * *

><p>Sometimes Mildred hated her imagination for, over the years, it had brought her only trouble. Whether it was her arguments with Miss Hardbroom or her strange proclivity to create the most twisted, and slightly dangerous, plans to save the school, she blamed her overactive imagination for it. Truth be told, the only instance where this particular trait had served her well was while writing the essay about the two-headed giant who was arguing with himself, for without that essay, she would have never been admitted into Cackle's. Apart from that, it had always worked against her. And now, as she was standing in the middle of the well-lit hallway of what she supposed to be a very old Victorian house, she wondered what sort of twisted scenario her mind had concocted for her now.<p>

A pair of long arms wrapped around her from behind and Mildred could feel a familiar, yet strange scent envelop her. The embrace was welcoming and the girl had to fight the urge to close her eyes and lose herself into the warmth of the body behind her. Instead, she kept her eyes wide opened and turned to see who was greeting her so very tenderly. When she first turned Mildred got the strange impression that she had been hugged by her mother. Yet, the woman that was proudly beaming at her most definitely wasn't Annabelle Hubble. She had long black hair which was neatly plaited and which reached the small of her back, her eyes, which were deep hazel, held a mysterious kind of sparkle in them and her red lips were parted in a slightly mischievous grin. It took Mille a good couple of seconds to process that the woman who had been hugging her and was now gently nudging her to go towards the last door in the hallway was Miss Hardbroom.

"Sweetheart, please go wash your hands before dinner. Your father is already waiting". Her tone was soft, loving and slightly shy and her request was nothing like the orders she usually barked at her students. Her request was more like a gentle, unassuming plea, if nothing else. If HB had ever used that kind of voice in class, each and every one of her students would have probably had her committed

Mildred nodded in bewilderment and moved towards the door she had been directed towards stealing glances at this most odd version of her potions teacher. The woman was as thin as she remembered her to be, but instead of her usual black dress, she was clad in a light blue silk frock that was reaching up to her knees and revealed a pair of creamy, thin legs. Like the Miss Hardbroom she knew, she wasn't wearing much jewellery, save for a golden pendant round her neck, yet the most obvious and baffling addition was a small golden wedding band and an equally delicate engagement ring. Unlike the woman she saw every day in class, this version of the potions mistress had a relaxed, benevolent smile gracing her pale features and while she was as straight as ever, her poise seemed to be a proof of immeasurable grace rather than dourness and self-restraint. For a moment, despite the sheer oddity of the situation, the student wished to see this Miss Hardbroom more.

When she returned from the bathroom and was directed with a gentle nudge by her "mother" to what she supposed to be the dinning room, her eyes were immediately transfixed on the man that was sitting at the table. Although he was sitting on one of the tastefully chosen Louis the XVI chairs she could tell that he was tall. Very tall. The way in which he was bending slightly over the table, while reading the paper, betrayed not only abnormal grace for a man but also some sort of hidden power. Mildred could see that under the crisp white shirt his muscles were tense as if the man was ready to jump from his seat and attack. The tense state of his body wasn't shown on his face. Behind a wavy curtain of black hair that was loosely tied at the nape of neck, his angular, tanned features were relaxed, his thin lips spread into a serene smile. Upon hearing her approach he looked up and, for an unknown reason, Mildred took an unconscious step back. His almond-shaped eyes, now fully directed towards her, were the most vivid blue she had ever seen. She could not tear her eyes away from those blue depths and she felt sad. Sadder than she'd ever been. It was as if an invisible hand was pressing against her chest and throat making her choke. She could feel salty droplets of water fall on her cheeks. Every fibre in her body told her to run away, to leave the strange man's presence but, no matter how hard she urged her legs to move, she found that she could do nothing but stare into those deep blue eyes. Only when the blue irises suddenly faded into pure white did Millie find the power to scream.

* * *

><p>When Hope woke up she felt as if her body was made of lead. Her limbs seemed heavy, her eyelids seemed unwilling to reveal the clear blue irises of her eyes and she wished for a second the she would be able to just sit there and never move again. Would anyone really care if she spent the rest of her days with her head propped on her hands and eyes shut against the reality of what was happening? Would anyone really give a damn if she just waited for death quietly, without a fight? If about a week ago the answer would have been a definite "no", now she knew that the four girls would care. After seven days of being stuck in that place, a quiet camaraderie had been built between herself and the girls.<p>

For years and years she had tried to kill her heart but the bloody wretched thing refused to go down without a fight. She had tried to convince herself that love, compassion, friendship, and other such noble sentiments were nothing but expressions of weakness. She couldn't afford to be weak. She couldn't afford to allow herself to form ties to other people. That was what she had always told herself, that was what she truly believed. Yet her heart chose, time and time again, to work against her.

First there had been Evan, the one and only man she had loved. Back then she had known how dangerous it would be for her to give her heart away to someone who had been born and raised to hate and destroy her. But back then she had been fifteen and her eyes saw the world in a completely different light. Then she had been able to see the colours of the world, she had been able breath in the smells and she had been able to feel the heat of the sun on her skin. Now? The world held nothing of interest for her. For her the world was nothing but a collection of souls, one more deformed and destroyed than the other, waiting to be granted absolution and to leave their unfortunate corpses behind. She pitied them.

She wondered for a second when did her perspective change. Was it when Evan tried to kill her after she had agreed to run away with him when both their families expressed disagreement when finding out about their relationship? Or maybe it was when she had to consciously take her first soul. The soul of her own father. She had truly loved him. Her father, that is. Even if he had never been able to fully express his emotions, even if he had never been able to control the fear that he felt while he was in his daughter's presence, she had truly loved him.

Before she had taken the soul of her father she had never truly understood what she was capable of. Of course, people had died before she had been fifteen and she had taken each and every one of their souls but she had done so without realizing it. After all, taking one soul didn't require her physical presence, only her spiritual one and her spiritual signature was, or had been up until recently, omnipresent and omnipotent. She guessed that her father wasn't the first one whose souls she had taken while being in physical form. The first one must have been her mother. After all, that was why each and every Elemental Mistress of Fire died in childbirth. The entire balance of the world would have been destroyed if there was more than one person who could control death, after all. But she couldn't remember taking the soul of her mother. It was irrelevant. Quite frankly, her mother was irrelevant. She was nothing but a few pictures on the mantelpiece.

But her father… he was an entire different matter. Hope had been there when he had died, not spiritually, but physically as well. She had held his hand, she had witnessed the immense pain he had been in and truth be told, she had wanted nothing more than for the old man to just give up his grasp on life. But her father had been stubborn. He had also been more than afraid of death and his daughter had been unable to give him a proper explanation of what happened after death. Truthfully, Hope hadn't been able to offer that particular explanation because she had no idea what happened after death. Her mission was to take the souls to the realm her ancestors had created. She had no idea what happened to the souls after they went past the barrier of the lake. So without being able to offer him any comfort she had taken her father's soul, her own soul being shattered into pieces as she stared at his wretched look of fear.

Ever since then she had made it her personal mission to use her physical form to take souls as often as she could to see how they reacted to her. Although a part of her hated it, she wanted those whose souls she took to be afraid of her. Why? Because if there were others who were truly scared of her then it meant that her own father wasn't such a miserable coward. There had only been one person that had been as terrified of her as her own father but she had allowed that one person to live…

After Evan, she had given her heart to Noah. Not in the same way, but she had allowed the doctor to form a bond with her. Why? That she did not know. At first it was because he had been the only one who could see her spiritual form and she had been intrigued by that. But then… Hope didn't exactly know why she had allowed him to enter her life. She had met him just after her father's death and after Evan's attempt to murder her. Maybe, back then, she had believed Noah to be some sort of replacement for both her father and first love. He was after all ten years her senior. And then, she had attended his father's funeral and she had, for the first time in her life, felt guilty and remorseful. She had watched for a while how all his so-called friends had deserted him and she had known that he would need someone to be there for him. That, coupled with the immense guilt she felt, made her visit him more and more often. After a while she realized that she needed him as much as he needed her. She needed someone to be able to just look at her and see her for what she was: a girl, a human being, not an abomination of nature.

Far more recent than the other two bonds she had formed over the years, was the one with the four students in the potions classroom and, why not, with Miss Hardbroom. She guessed that it was pretty hard to be stuck in a life and death situation and not form any kind of attachment. From experience, she knew fully well that people did not want to die alone. Maybe that was why she had felt the impulse to get close to the people who were in the same position as her. She felt a weird sense of companionship towards them. Even towards Miss Hardbroom. Despite the fact that she had resented the woman's cold demeanour she felt that in their present situation such animosities did not matter too much. After all, it was much easier to live with someone that you didn't outright hate.

And then there were the girls. The girls well… they amused her. With their innocence they showed her what she could never be. Too much knowledge had been given too her when she had been their age. Too hard of a burden had been placed on her shoulders from birth. She had never had the luxury to be carefree, to play, and to make mistakes. Seeing them, interacting with them, made her regain a bit of her lost childhood.

As she looked at Mildred's sleeping form, she could not help but feel slightly overwhelmed. If what the lake showed was true, and it always was, Mildred would have a very small amount of time left. Very small. Surprisingly enough that saddened her, not only because the girl could be of great use to her if she ever managed to get out of the blasted potions lab and decided to go after Evan, but also because she knew what was to happen to the girl's soul and she did not deserve it. Millie was one of those kind, pure creatures whose soul deserved to be preserved, to be given absolution not torn, shattered and discarded. Yet, with her stuck in that bloody place, with her unable to exercise her birth right, the girl's soul would be lost forever. And how about the other girls? Surely their wide-eyed innocence will be gone when they will see their class-mate, who was also unknowingly their leader and moral compass, in such unbelievable pain, twisting and turning while taking her last breaths.

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><p>At various points during the entire ordeal, Constance thought about giving up and letting death claim her. She believed that any type of death would be far kinder than the losing battle she was fighting against her own body. Yet, when such thoughts threatened to cloud her judgements she looked upon the faces of the four students and was suddenly reminded of why she was desperately trying to carry on. Knowing that if she failed they would as well, she carried on fighting for every breath and urging her weakened heart to beat away.<p>

As far as the pretend potions student teacher was concerned, ever since Hope talked about her first date, Miss Hardbroom felt a strange kinship form between her and the younger woman. She was now certain of two things about the elusive Miss Hawthorne: she had once loved dearly and she had nothing but the better interests of the girls at heart. No matter how cold and superficial Hope appeared, Constance knew that she wasn't a sadist or a psychopath and regardless of her initial purpose when coming at Cackle's she knew that the woman would not let anything happen to the innocent girls who were in the same position as they were. The kindness that she had shown, not only towards the students but her as well, proved that despite that the potions mistress had been wrong in her assessment of the younger woman. Slumped gracefully on her desk, Constance sighed softly while watching Hope leaning against the back wall of the class room. With all the make-up gone and being much thinner, Miss Hawthorne didn't look as proud and arrogant as she had before. Truth be told, she looked much younger than her twenty five years. Maybe Amelia was right. Maybe she was indeed a poor judge of characters.

Knowing that the girl would automatically follow, Constance staggered, for the second time in the past two hours or so, towards the supplies cupboard. The attacks were becoming more and more frequent and it worried her. Without trying to be a martyr, the potion mistress wasn't especially worried about what this increased frequency meant as far as her health was concerned. She had, long ago, made peace with the fact that she was going to die sooner rather than later. What she was truly concerned about was the fact that, as things were presently going, her body was prone to fail her at the most inopportune of moments and that the four children would have to both go through the traumatic experience of seeing someone die and, in the worst of cases, suffer through their imprisonment in the company of a corpse.

"Miss Hawthorne, I think we need to have a serious discussion…"the potion mistress whispered as she felt her lungs regain a bit of their normal functon and Hope released the woman's shoulder, giving her the freedom to turn and face her.

"What about?" the younger woman asked calmly, leaning on the wall opposite the potion mistress,

"I don't think that I have much time left." Constance answered simply, dryly. "And, as such, I think it would be prudent to make some… contingency plans… in case…" she tactfully followed, her voice slightly higher than usual. It was one thing to actually admit that you were going to die, sometime in the future, and another to actually prepare for your imminent demise.

For her part, Hope didn't know whether to laugh or cry. For one, she knew for a fact that the woman standing before her was condemned to death and the stoicism with which the potion mistress accepted her fate made her feel bad, and why not, impressed. But, on the other hand she also knew that, by some twisted turn of fate, Miss Hardbroom would not be the first one to go in that room. Of course, she could not tell that to the woman so Hope maintained a blank expression waiting for the potion mistress to continue.

"First, you will need to find a way to dispose of…" Constance began but her voice refused to voice her thoughts. This conversation was proving more difficult than she had expected. She tried to take a deep breath and continue "There is some…" once again her voice refused to work properly. She could feel her heart beating quickly in her chest and her lungs scream for air. Upon seeing that the potion mistress was either having a panic attack or one of her usual bouts of illness, Hope quickly came and sat next to her, putting her hand on the back of the older woman to steady her.

"What… I am… trying to say… is that… you need to… dispose of my corpse…" Constance took a deep breath as soon as the words left her mouth and she took a moment to comprehend their magnitude. It was happening. It was truly happening."… Oh… God…!" she whispered softly, tears making their way from the corner of her eyes on her chin. She had thought that she had made peace with the idea of dying. She had thought that she could accept her fate with no qualms, but now that she actually believed her death to be not only a certainty but also an imminent occurrence, she could not help but feel somewhat cheated. She did not want to die. No one did. Although eternal sleep would certainly be preferable to all the suffering and pain she went through a daily basis, she could not help but feel somewhat afraid at what was happening and regretful.

Hope was stunned. Constance Hardbroom the most proper, most straight-laced woman she had met in her life was currently breaking down by her side and she had no idea how to react. The woman's breath was coming in shallow gasps and her hands were trembling by her side and Hope was certain that if she didn't do something soon the woman would have something akin to a heart attack. What she did surprised them both. She extended her long hands and enveloped the woman into what she hopped to be a reassuring hug. By the way in which the potion mistress went rigid into her arms she could tell that the woman had as much experience with hugs as Hope herself. Which wasn't much, really. And yet, Constance didn't move, not because she was particularly fond of either the younger woman or of physical contact, but because Hope's presence was reassuring. The fact that she could feel something, anything, was reassuring.

"I once promised myself that I will face anything with dignity… it seems that I have trespassed this promise" Constance said in a much calmer voice after a few minutes, extracting herself from Hope's arms and wiping away the last remaining tears from her cheeks.

"You didn't…" Hope replied in an eerie voice, her longs arms now hugging her legs.

"I did… I also promised myself that I would never show weakness in front of anyone… another promise that I broke…" she followed more for herself than for her counterpart.

"If it's any comfort you should know that whatever happens in this room stays in this room" the younger woman said with honesty, her eyes still fixed on the wall across her.

"It strangely isn't. But thank you, Miss Hawthorne." Constance replied in a raspy voice

"What for? And please call me Hope… I feel that in the present situation using given names is more than appropriate" Hope asked truly surprised that the potion mistress would see fit to be grateful for anything

"For doing what I no longer can for the girls and for myself as well. They look up to you. They trust you to protect them" Constance explained

"I beg to differ. You might not see it, but I do. The girls trust no one more than they trust you. They care for you, Miss Hardbroom. No matter how weak you might think you are, no matter how weak you might think that they see you to be, it is still you that they need" despite her words she could not bring herself to address the stoic woman by her given name "You think that they come to me and talk to me because they think that you are weak? No. They come to me because they care for you enough as not want to burden you. They want you to conserve your energy because they know that when the time comes and something more serious will happen it is you that they will turn to. It is you that can and always will unequivocally help them"

"I can only wish that what you said is nothing but the truth but I am afraid that when the time comes, no matter how hard the girls try, I will not be able to properly aid them…" her voice trailed off, regret obvious in her deep hazel eyes.

"Then we will deal with that when the time comes…" Hope whispered calmly knowing exactly what the deputy headmistress was implying

"Miss Hawthorne… Hope… there is one thing that I need to ask of you… " Constance started in a calm voice now looking at the woman beside her with seriousness "I do not know why you came to Cackle's and I do not know what you intend to do, but I do know that you have a certain sense of honour ingrained into you and that you are not cruel. What I want to ask of you is that, regardless of your intentions, you will not harm the girls. Not only these four, but all the girls" she asked calmly and could see the ghost of a smile playing on the younger woman's lips.

"How can I harm them? Am I not in here with you?" she asked with slight derision

"If we get out, if you get to do what you came here to do…" Constance sighed softly

"Then I promise that I will not touch the girls. It wasn't my intention anyway" Hope said calmly the irony of the entire situation making her lips curve slightly in a mocking smile.

"Thank you. Even if I will still be alive when we get out of here, I doubt that I will be in any condition to protect them from you. Quite frankly, even in my prime I doubt that I could have overpowered one of the Elemental Masters. I am trusting in your conscience to keep your promise" the deputy said calmly and watched a look of surprise flicker on the other woman's features.

"You trust me…why?" she whispered in a perplexed voice.

"I have no other alternative. Even if I do not trust you I can do nothing to stop you" Constance answered in a slightly defeated tone.

"Are you afraid of me?" Hope asked in a straight-forward manner after taking some time to ponder what the potion mistress had said.

"No." Miss Hardbroom answered simply.

"My own father was afraid of me" the younger woman said with a tone that would have been indifferent if not for the painfully obvious bitterness in it.

"Then he was a fool" the younger woman's look of skepticism made Constance feel compelled to explain "I do not fear you. I fear what you could do, not to me, but to others. Hence the promise."

"It makes no sense. If you fear what I can do, then you fear me as well… "

"Not at all. You have great power. I fear that power. I fear that you could use that power to hurt those for whom I care. But I do not fear you." Miss Hardbroom said calmly "For the past week or so I have seen you without your power. I have seen you not as an Elemental Master that has come to this school to wreak chaos and destruction, but as the person who has been kind to both me and the girls"

"You base your assessment of me on what you have seen in the past week. But you forget that this is not me. I am…."she was intrigued at the deputy's train of thought.

"Tell me, Hope, do your powers control you or do you control your powers?" Constance asked upon seeing the unconvinced look on the younger woman's face

"Obviously I am the one that controls them…"

"Then, underneath all that power, all that energy, the same person lays. The person who has been fair with the ratios of water, the person who has listened to the girl's incessant troubles and participated in their games and the person who has watched me expel my blood once every couple of hours for the past week" she explained in the same way she explained a particularly difficult potion to her classes.

"If only it could be that simple…" Hope whispered softly a shadow of regret present in her eyes while looking at the other woman

"Even if you are unaware of it, you still have power over us all in this situation. You are the one who prepares all the water ratios. Even if you are an atrocious potion maker, you could still find some sort of poison in the potions lab to put in our ratios…" Constance continued her rationale in the same, teacher-like voice.

"Wouldn't you know, though?" the younger woman replied for the sake of the argument

"Probably. But then again, how hard would it be to eliminate me?" Miss Hardbroom asked in the same matter-of-fact voice "You spend at least half your day in this supplies cupboard with me. It would be easy for you to kill me, wouldn't it? There is a strong chance I wouldn't even be able to fight back… And I doubt that anyone would ever even suspect that you murdered me. After all, everyone knows that my heart can give out any moment… "

"Are you tempting me?" Hope continued with derision.

"No. I am proving a point."

"Are you trying to convince yourself that I will not go back on my word and harm the girls or are you trying to convince me that underneath all that power I am still a good person?" she asked a little bit more forcefully

"Tell me, while being in here, did you consider, even once, the possibility of killing any of us?" Constance asked, her hazel eyes challenging Hope's blue.

"No" Hope admitted softly, her eyes lowering.

"Why not?" the potions mistress asked once again looking for any sign of feeling on the girl's blank face.

"I do not like killing without a good reason…" she whispered, her eyes still fixed on the stone floor.

"You have killed before?" Constance enquired even if she was well aware of the answer.

"What do you think?" Hope asked rhetorically her blue eyes finally meeting the deputy's hazel ones.

A cry from the other room interrupted their conversation and after an exchange of worried looks, Miss Hardbroom lifted herself off the floor and started to walk as quickly as possible towards the commotion. Hope did not move. She had recognized the voice as being Mildred's. Was that it? Was the child truly dying? Was she screaming because her soul was being torn from her body? If that was so, Hope could not bring herself to go into that room and witness the process. If only she had a bit of power. If only she could relieve the girl. If only there was something, anything that she could do. The young woman took a deep breath and tried to block out the screams of the girl. Now, Maud, Enid and Ethel were shouting as well urging Millie to wake up. Every time she heard them call Millie's name she could feel her soul shattering. Hope looked around the small familiar room and her eyes fell on a small potions kit. She lifted the lid of the box and her eyes fell on a small knife. With trembling hands she took it. There was one thing that she could do, but was she ready to do it? She could save one soul, but at what cost? At the cost of everything she had. The ghost of her conversation with Miss Hardbroom was lingering in her mind. She had told… no she had promised… the woman, albeit in a roundabout way, that she would protect the girls. Was she ready to truly do it? Was she ready to sacrifice everything just to be able to spare that child the pain?

Mildred's screams seemed to become louder and louder. With a steady, determined hand, Hope pressed the knife into her pale flesh.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

So… *hides behind chair*…. What do you think? Was it any good? I was so nervous posting this chapter because a lot happens in it and a lot of info is given. Please send me your thoughts through your reviews or pm's… I love reading your feedback!

*gives chocolate fudge brownies to everyone who has made it thus far*

Sneak preview (if you chose to continue reading, that is):

_Evan comes to Cackle's and has a big surprise. Noah is consumed by guilt. Things in the academy take a very unexpected turn._


	11. Chapter 11

A/N:

_Warning: This is a very long Author's Note so feel free to skip it… but, you might find some of the info I give in it interesting …_

Dear readers,

*drum roll*

I know that I have told some of you guys personally, so sorry if it might seem repetitive, but I might as well share this information with those that follow this fiction and with whom I haven't been in contact.

Fire and Ice always has been conceived as trilogy consisting of the following books:

Book 1: The Wielder, The Giver and The Heir

Book 2: Lord of the Wind

Book 3: Through the Awful Grace of God

I am more than pleased to say that we have officially entered the second part of Book 1. Every book will have around 20 chapters (plus, maybe, an epilogue)

I cannot tell you how pleased I am that I managed to update this particular chapter sooner than the last one. I also need to extend lots of thanks to those who have read and reviewed this story thus far:

**Chrissiemusa,HBrules, PrincessSammi ,chocomoon,AleksandraHardbroom, melissaIvory, and LongVodka** . They are all wonderful writers so I encourage you to go ahead and read their stories!

Special thanks to my sister and my rock during hard times: **NextChristineDaae.**

Once again I feel obliged to tell you that I am not neither a doctor /med student/nurse, nor do I have any medical knowledge whatsoever. Furthermore, the only time I have ever visited a hospital was a few weeks back to have an X-ray on my ankle. To cut a long story short, my real life knowledge of medicine is virtually non-existent. For the purpose of this fan fiction, I do research on what interests me and I do hope that all the medical information that I managed to gather and include in the present and past chapters is correct. Hence, I need to urge you to take my medical assessment of things with a pinch of salt.

Some things that I present in this chapter might seem impossible from a medical point of view. Yet, you need to remember that this is not a story about medicine but about magic. I can assure you, that what seems impossible now will be explained later through magical means. That being said, I do know that some of you guys are far more proficient with medicine than I am (which, quite frankly, is not really hard to be) so, if you spot any mistakes in the terminology, in the description of the conditions or in the descriptions of the medical environment and procedures, feel free to tell me and I will edit the chapter accordingly.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter.

Yours faithfully,

**Lemondrop**

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><p><strong>FIRE AND ICE <strong>

**BOOK I: THE WIELDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR**

**Chapter 11: Be with me always- take any form- drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh God! It is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot leave without my soul! (Emily Bronte- Wuthering Heights)**

Evan felt his stomach twist and turn and fought the urge to vomit when the academy entered in his line of sight. He had managed to appear out of view, close to Walker's Gate and had pondered for more than ten minutes if going inside the academy was indeed a wise thing to do. He didn't know what actually possessed him to go past the old wooden gate of the academy. He had always fancied himself a very rational man; a man who put sense over feelings and as such was surprised to find himself slowly approaching the castle. As he walked to the main entrance of the castle he was even more surprised to see the gym mistress waiting for him, arms crossed across her chest and an unreadable expression on her sharp features. Evan quickly deduced from her stance that she was angry and hurt and hoped to heaven that the woman would not see fit to confront him at that precise moment.

As for Imogen, as she stood in the doorway breathing in the cold November air and watched the man who was her boyfriend approach she could feel a myriad of emotions hit her. She was angry at him for simply disappearing, hurt that he would not return any of her calls, fearful because of what had been discussed mere hours before in the staff room and why not, worried. The latter was what confused her the most for she could tell that she wasn't particularly worried about what he may do, but that she was worried for him. The man who was approaching the academy despite retaining his Evan-like nonchalance seemed to be a broken man. His shoulders were sagged, his blond hair, always so neat, stood into an unruly mop at the top of his head and his furrowed brows formed a new line etched across his forehead. She could not see his eyes for he was keeping them downwards, apparently very interested in the stone floor of the courtyard, but she wasn't sure that she wanted to see them. As much as she resented the man that was coming towards the castle she wasn't sure that she wanted to see worry and hurt in his usually mischievous hazel eyes.

"Where have you been?" she demanded curtly, her voice despite being controlled and apparently cheerful carrying a certain edge to it.

"Imogen…" he sighed softly and rose his head to face the woman with whom he had slept on countless occasions during the past weeks. She took an instinctive step backwards because, as she had predicted, she hadn't been ready to face his gaze. The feelings that were embedded in those two pools of hazel were beyond what she had expected. His eyes seemed so sad, so desperate, so hurt and so tired, that she could immediately feel her anger melting and being replaced with compassion. Even if he was responsible for what was happening within the academy, she was fairly certain that he was more than remorseful.

"Are you alright?" she blurted suddenly before she could stop herself and the ghost of a faint smile appeared on his weary features.

"Yes, dear Imogen… I just had a trying week…" he answered, putting his arms round the shoulders of the gym mistress his entire being enveloping her into a warm embrace.

Imogen wanted to scream, wanted to punch him and most of all, wanted to slap herself, for when she had seen Evan come towards the castle from the window of the staff room she had decided to wait for him outside in order to confront him. She had firmly believed that he was the one responsible for the ongoing tragedy and she had naively thought that if she were the one to demand answers, he would be more likely to give them. Plus, hurt and angry as she had been, she had imagined the perverse pleasure she would have derived from seeing him squirm under the weight of the realization that his plot had been unravelled. Yet now, as she could feel those strong, warm arms circled around her she knew that her resolution was melting and that all those unanswered questions would die on her lips. It was way easier to feel betrayed by the man when she wasn't in his presence and he wasn't looking at her with those big, sad eyes of his.

Evan could unconsciously feel all the conflicting emotions that the gym mistress unknowingly gave off. They worried him for it meant that, despite his better attempts at concealing his identity, some things about him and about his family had transpired. Otherwise he wouldn't have been able to feel the waves of suspicion coming from her. He took a deep breath, held her closer and found that he didn't really care that his true identity might have been revealed. Oh, he was well aware that even if Imogen didn't have the power to confront him as she had intended, the others would have this power as they weren't in any way emotionally attached to him. But, even if the headmistress or the insane chanting teacher knew the truth, what could they really do about it? Yes, they could shout at him, call him murderer and even attack him, but he strongly doubted that any of their attacks would have an effect on his persona. After all, his power was beyond anything their little brains could process and if they had any common sense they would plaster a fake smile on their faces and pretend they knew nothing about him.

"Where have you been, Evan? We needed you here…" she whispered softly, taking in familiar the smell of expensive cologne.

"I had to tend to some very important family matters, dear. A dear friend of mine died and I had to take care of his affairs…" he said softly. It wasn't exactly a lie. After all, even if his "dear friend" wasn't dead yet, she would be soon.

"Oh… I'm so sorry for your friend…" Imogen replied evenly, trying to decipher if what he had said was the truth or not.

"I'm sorry that I was unable to come, dear… but I am here now" he released her from his embrace and could see the hopeful look in her pale blue eyes. Somehow it pained him to be deceiving her while she was looking at him that way. "Shall we go see what the matter is?"

"Evan… you should know that… " Imogen wanted to tell him that while he was gone they had suspected him to be behind the whole blue field affair. She wanted to warn him but something inside her made her bite back her words. How could she admit to such a betrayal? Even if what their suspicions were true, was it prudent to make the suspect aware of what they knew? No it wasn't.

"What?" he asked simply, once again feeling her aura giving off suspicion and a certain amount of fear.

"No… nothing. I'm just glad you are here. Maybe you will be able to do more than we did and manage to free Miss Hardbroom and the students" she lied quickly, deliberately leaving the name of the student potions teacher out.

As they walked inside the castle and were greeted by the headmistress and, to his surprise, two wizards who recommended themselves as Egbert Hellebore and Algernon Rowan-Webb, he could feel the waves of apprehension directed towards him. He had been right. They knew something about him and the fact that he didn't know what was slightly bothering him. Yet, when both the headmistress and Imogen directed him towards the potions lab and he could see the blue field of magic all those thoughts left him and he felt like he had been punched in the gut. His masterpiece was glowing brightly, and he could fell the power of the essence of water envelop him. He touched the field, the two women by his side watching his movements carefully and for a moment he felt like he his heart had stopped into his chest and he couldn't breathe. _She_ was just behind that thin yet powerful layer of water, not only in spiritual form but also physically. How close to the breaking point was she? Was she about to give up? Was she still holding on, grasping life within weakened fingers? It was so stupid, so irrational. How could he be concerned with Hope's health and welfare when it was he who had willingly put her in that position?

He opened his mind and his hands trembled. He was half agony, half hope. He desperately wanted to feel her there, to know that she was alive and well, and to know that she was still trying to find a way to get out of her prison. Evan realized that he could stand anything but the thought of her giving up. He did not want to see her blue eyes dull, with no sparkle of hope or life. He desperately wanted to feel the fire of her being come to life behind the thin lair of water and he wanted her to fight back. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to identify her presence he could not. He couldn't feel her energy; he couldn't feel her thoughts and that made his knees weaken. He was hers, body and soul. She had trapped him in her web of lies and deceit and no matter how hard he had tried to give up on her, to set himself free, for the past ten years he was aware that a look, a word, a thought from her would be enough and he would fall onto his knees and beg for her forgiveness while he professed his undying love. He abhorred his weakness. From the first time her blue eyes had pierced his soul she had shown him that he was incomplete. And now, as he couldn't feel her resented yet beloved presence behind that wall, he couldn't help but think that his plan was successful and that his soul would be incomplete forever. The thought of her lying dead or dying made him sick. It made him physically ill.

"Please, my love…" he whispered softly to himself, touching the wall of energy, knowing that she couldn't hear him "Tell me to stop…"

Both Amelia and Imogen exchanged a worried look as they watched the young man touch the field and go as pale as a sheet. They could see his lips moving without any sound reaching their ears and a look of agony etched on his features. His entire being seemed to be shaking and his hands were trembling uncontrollably as he touched the field. Imogen felt her heart break at him being in such obvious pain and even the headmistress, who was apprehensive of their patron, could not help but feel a certain amount of pity for the man. Ironically, for both women, that blatant display of weakness seemed to absolve Evan of any guilt. After all, if he had been the one to cause that mayhem, he wouldn't have seemed so affected by the blue field, would he? Plus, all their suppositions against the school's patron were based on a legend and as, the Grand Wizard himself had said, legends were just that, legends and weren't necessarily the truth.

"Mr Mallard, are you quite alright?" the headmistress asked her voice gentle and grandmotherly and the man turned to face her, his eyes appearing more tired and weary than they had been when he had first arrived.

"Yes… this is quite an impressive bit of magic, isn't it? It seems to drain your energy…" he said tiredly, voicing the first plausible excuse that came to his mind for what he was sure must have been quite an impressive show of emotion.

"Shall we go to my office then? I will have Miss Tapioca bring some tea and scones and we can discuss more there…" Amelia nodded sympathetically being quite worried for the young man as he seemed to be getting increasingly pale.

"Yes of course…" He answered absentmindedly, tearing his gaze away from his masterpiece while taking Imogen's extended hand into his. "Imogen, wait!" he followed in a strangely strangled voice because no matter how hard he tried, his legs didn't obey him.

"Evan… what's wrong?" the gym mistress asked in a voice higher than usual.

"I don't know" he whispered trying to force his legs to carry him away from the blue field. Everything was incredibly fuzzy, and the edges of his vision seemed to blacken while the entire hallway started to spin out of control. He could hear both Imogen and the headmistress say something to him as he felt his knees weaken and buckle, but his mind couldn't process what they were saying. The air was thinning around him and no matter how hard he tried he seemed to be unable to force it into his lungs. He knew that he had somehow collapsed and that his back must have hurt from the contact with the stone floor but he couldn't feel it. The only thing he could feel was his heart beating madly, his chest being in unbearable pain and cold sweat falling on his forehead. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was Imogen's panicked face swim in and out of his line of sight.

* * *

><p>Hope looked at the crimson blood that now flew freely from her left palm. It was a beautiful colour, the vivid proof that she was alive and she could not help but try to choke back the urge to hysterically laugh. Yes, she was alive. She, death personified, the mistress of the underworld, the person who carried the souls of the living to their impending doom, was alive and proof of that was in the small stream of crimson that was now staining the stone floor. Tears streamed down on her face and she found that she could not control them, myriad of bottled emotions coming out at once. The pain of the past days, the frustration, the anger and the feeling of betrayal were contained in the salty droplets of water that were making their way on her cheeks. She tried to clear them away and realized that she had used her injured hand to do so, blood and water now mingling on the pale skin of her face. Blood and tears on her face. Blood and tears on her hands. Blood and tears everywhere around her. How befitting.<p>

Stopping the self-depreciatory train of thought before it became too much, she instead focused on the matter at hand. With a deep breath to still her nerves, Hope pressed her trembling right hand into the deep gash in her palm and soaked her fingers into the liquid. Even though she knew that it was the only thing she could do, there was something that made her hesitate. Something that made her fingers tremble and right hand to shake uncontrollably. Was it truly the right thing to do? Was it worth it? Was she prepared to give up the most important thing she owned in order to get herself and the others out of the hell-hole they had been trapped in? The background noise of Mildred's screams and wails gave her a new motivation. Had it not been for those screams maybe she would have hesitated more. Yet, she soon found herself doing what she was supposed to do in the first place.

Fingers soaked in her own blood she first drew the familiar Ankh on the stone floor and on top of it she created the symbol of the scythe. Both drawings seemed to look at her mockingly, challenging her to do what she was supposed to do, questioning her resolve. With a resolute hand she circumscribed them in a perfectly formed circle. Life and Death blended together restricted by the symbol of perfection. Proud of her handiwork she smiled at the drawing. That was it. The moment had come. The moment when she could truly gain access to the powers she had been denied. She placed her steadier than ever hands just over the symbol, trying to block the awful sound coming from the other room. Under her fingers she could feel the familiar energy of her elements come to life; she could sense the soft and weak pulsations of Fire and Earth come together to create both death and life. In a sure, resolute voice she started to chant the only spell that had been forbidden to her:

"_IIHT HNEO EVSF ROPF EKII BERR YTIE_

_TREO OWSF GIPE ETIA THRR HTIT EHTH_

_TMWI OEEN GTRE RHTE AEHD NPAT TOTO_

_DDYO OIAR TNNS HGC, EOEA BFSN IMTD_

_TEHY OSTE GTON IRVE VEEM ENRY MGM._

_FIURIS ORIYHT RESTOD TLHHLE HIEIDA INVNMR SQEGO:"_

Had it not been for the obvious build of energy under her fingers she would have stopped, for the next part of the chant was the hardest to perform. Yet the magic was flowing and she realized how much she had missed that particular feeling, so with newly-found energy she forcefully declared:

"_TROLCON HTFAHSD EAMNALE ILYDNEA MISTCET MTOHEPH OYUETI."_

For a moment everything seemed still and Hope wondered if she had failed, and if her fate was sealed for ever and ever. But then something wonderful happened. The Ankh on the floor seemed to come to life, the crimson with which it had been drawn turning into deep black. She watched in fascination as the entire circle started to burn and she couldn't help but place her hand in the flames. The energy and the heat were so welcoming and so familiar that Hope's eyes threatened to spill tears of happiness. For a moment that familiarity and euphoria made her forget the price she had paid to regain her power, but she was soon reminded of her bargain by pain.

A thousand little needles were piercing every inch of her flesh as her body, hungered by its lack of magical energy, stared to regenerate its magic. While Evan's initial spell had been perfected to attract energy from things that were positioned around her aura of fire, her own spell wasn't and, as such, she could feel her entire being the focus of the energy of the largest thing that surrounded her: the castle.

* * *

><p>Mildred once again woke up crying and she couldn't understand why. She couldn't remember the content of the dream , she couldn't comprehend why she felt the urge to scream until her throat was raw and she certainly couldn't understand the feeling of terror that seemed to have entered her heart and seemed reluctant to disappear. All that she did know was that crying and screaming offered a cathartic experience and that, with every tear that rolled on her cheek and every shout that left her throat, she could feel her nerves settling slightly. Thus, eyes closed and mind stuck in the strange realm between sleep and consciousness, the girl cried and yelled to her heart's content.<p>

"Mildred! Mildred!" she felt the touch of a thin, firm hand being placed on her shoulder and for a moment the girl relished in the familiar and comforting hand.

It reminded her of something. She didn't know what it reminded her of, but that small unassuming hand felt good on her back, for it seemed to give her a sense of security. It made her feel protected and cared for and Mildred involuntarily felt how her sobs stopped in her throat and how her body involuntarily leaned towards the person that was touching her. She could then feel two long arms enveloping themselves around her shaking frame and all her tense muscles relaxed. She would have liked to stay in that protective motherly embrace forever but Millie, with a supernatural effort, decided to open her blue eyes and was confronted with a sight that surprised her. Her three friends, for she had several days ago decided to include Ethel in this category, were looking at her with a mixture of terror and astonishment on their features while Miss Hardbroom was holding her gently. What surprised the girl wasn't the fact that her form tutor had allowed her to once again invade her personal space, but that she, Mildred, the worst witch in the school, didn't mind being hugged by HB. If more than two weeks before, after a similar incident, she had avoided her form tutor for almost seven days, at that particular moment she didn't feel the need to hide from her teacher.

The girl stopped crying and looked up to her form tutor, gratitude plainly clear in her blue eyes. Allowing her long arms to drop from around the girl, Constance made her way towards her desk, giving a nod of understanding to Mildred. Ethel watched the exchange with mild interest and wondered what the world was coming to. Mildred Hubble being hugged and comforted like a five-year-old by none other than Miss Hardbroom? If someone had told Ethel that a few days before, she would have simply burst into laughter. Of course, if someone had told her that she would, at any point in her career at Cackle's, befriend Mildred Hubble and her friends, she would have called that person insane and possibly transformed him or her into a frog. Things were different in that room. Ethel didn't know whether it was because death was an invisible, perpetual, unacknowledged presence among them or because being stuck in a small space with other humans made one actually get to know those humans better. She couldn't understand why, but she did know that things had changed and the strangest part of that change for Ethel was that she actually enjoyed it.

In a situation so dire that petty school squabbles and rivalries meant absolutely nothing, the Hallow heiress had learned that she didn't have to look down on people to both feel good about herself and to maintain status. With what she hadn't even perceived to be a burned lifted off her shoulders, Ethel discovered that it was much easier to interact with others if one considers themselves their equal. She had also discovered that her feelings towards and perceptions of those she currently shared a room with had considerably changed. Maud Moonshine wasn't only the pathetic bookworm who despite her considerable efforts couldn't surpass Ethel academically. She had proven herself to be a kind and smart person who had a certain wisdom about her. Enid Nightshade wasn't only the annoying tomboyish trouble maker that seemed to always find a way to thwart Ethel's plans. She was a really fun person to be with, who, no matter how hard the situation was, seemed to enjoy making others laugh, even if it was at her own expense.

Then there was Mildred. Mildred Hubble. The worst witch in school and her sworn arch-enemy. She couldn't even begin to comprehend how and why her feelings for the girl she had hated with a stubborn passion for almost three years had changed. The truth was, she still hated Mildred. How could you not hate someone who reminded you, with every breath they took, that you were a lousy human being? She hated her for being so kind without wanting anything in return, for assuming that there was good in everyone and everything and most of all, for being so naïve as to believe in infinite second chances. What she hated most about the girl was that she liked and, why not, admired Mildred. For all her academic and magical shortcomings, Ethel liked her because she represented something that Ethel wanted to be. She would have liked to have Millie's inherent kindness, her uncanny ability to understand what other felt and her knack for saying or doing the right thing at the right time. She was also well aware that, no matter how hard she tried, she would have never been able to poses any of Mildred's redeeming qualities. She too spiteful to forgive and her first impulse would always be to seek revenge. She was too proud to extend the hand of friendship to everyone regardless of their status. She was too realistic to not assume that people had hidden agendas. All in all, Ethel was aware that she was too little like Mildred and that, surprisingly for her, hurt.

Everything was eerily silent for a moment and Ethel looked at the face of her companions who all had, at one point or another, seemed to gravitate towards Mildred. The girl's eyes widened in surprise when the shrill sound of a bird singing flooded the room. She recognized that song. She wondered for a second why the other people didn't react to the agonizingly sharp, unpleasant sound. Then the entire world started to shake, the walls of the castle violently started to tremor wildly and, in no time, the girl found herself on the floor trying to regain a semblance of stability. She could faintly hear Miss Hardbroom encourage them to get under their desks and she did so, her entire frame quivering with both fear and a sudden jolt of adrenaline. She closed her eyes and stopped dead in her tracks.

With her mind's eye she could see something she had seen only twice before in her life. The beautiful bird with red feathers, the phoenix she had last seen in the courtyard of the academy merely two months before, was spinning madly against the black canvass of her mind. The same beautiful bird, with the same horribly painful yet beautiful song twisted and turned leaving a trail of fire behind its wings and tails. If at both previous encounters the bird's song had been frightening to listen to and its flight had been terrifying to behold, at that moment it was slightly different. Both the bird's flight and shrill seemed to have an undeniable note of finality to them. The bird was singing its last song. In spite of this sad realization, Ethel refused to open her eyes. Instead she kept them tightly shut and allowed her mind to follow the glorious and grotesque spectacle of the bird auto- destructing itself. Sure enough after mere seconds, the song became more intense, much more pained, and she could see the flames produced by the bird engulf its graceful, red body. The bird flapped its wings madly, desperate sounds coming from its throat. As before, the bird burst into flames and was reduced to ashes.

She knew that phoenixes were reborn from their own ashes, but as she watched the sad remains of the bird fall in a heap of dust she knew that this time it was different. She couldn't explain how she knew it, but she did. This time she was fairly certain that the phoenix was gone forever. Ethel opened her eyes, a fleeting regretful smile on her lips, wondering if any of her class mates had also witnessed what she had just seen. When the beautiful bird had disappeared in a ball of flames, the castle walls had stopped shaking.

* * *

><p>Every single cell in her body was screaming in pain and yet Hope refused to make any sound. She could feel the blood in her veins flowing much quicker. Her slight frame was bustling with energy and she felt more alive than ever. Even the unbearable pain and the awkward way in which her hands trembled made her feel alive. Made her feel happy. Something was finally happening. She would soon be able to do something to escape from the horrible limbo in which Evan had locked her and the other four people for seven days. Only thinking about the man made her body shudder with anger and she promised herself, then and there, that she would find a very creative way to get back at him.<p>

* * *

><p>Amelia took a deep breath and sat at her desk, a steaming mug of tea in front of her, trying to shake the occurrences of the past hour. All in all, the headmistress was quite proud of how she had conducted herself. After Mr Mallard had collapsed in the hallway, she had firmly asked the two wizards to help Imogen carry the poor man into the staff room and asked Davina to contact Doctor Elwood and tell him that they had an emergency on their hands. After the good doctor asked what were the patient's symptoms and the then-barely-conscious Evan tried to describe in a weak, wheezing voice what he had been feeling the doctor concluded, to everyone's surprise, that the man was either having a heart attack or about ten other conditions that Amelia had never heard of in her life. Yet, as even if Mr Mallard had been having one of the other conditions there was absolutely nothing they could do before Noah would have arrived, he ordered, to be on the safe side, that they gave him an aspirin and place a pill of nitro-glycerine under his tongue. While the aspirin had been quickly produced by an almost crying Imogen the other medicine had proved to be more troublesome for two reasons: Amelia had never heard of such a thing before and as such she was pretty certain that they didn't have it in the scarcely-supplied Academy first aid kit. It was at that particular moment that the headmistress was proud to say that she had a moment of lucidity and that her brain, instead of succumbing to panic, rationalized. She knew that if Noah had asked her to give Evan something, he must have been pretty certain that they had it and as such, he might have prescribed it. Thus, while Imogen held the patient's hand and whispered encouraging words and Davina, for some sort of unknown reason, was motherly placing wet compresses on his forehead, the headmistress made a dash towards Constance's room.<p>

Going into the room of her deputy had been hard, not because it was locked but because ever since the blue field incident had happened, Amelia had been avoiding that particular door like plague. After a few seconds of staring dumbly at the door and a deep breath, the headmistress finally put an unsure hand on the doorknob and opened it. The room was exactly as Constance had left it, albeit slightly dustier, and the woman could feel tears prick at the corners of her eyes. Had it not been such a dire situation, maybe Amelia would have spent more time in that relatively small room, basking into how Constance-like it was. But the situation was dire and with superhuman effort, the headmistress pushed at the back of her mind the feelings of regret and sadness that threatened to overwhelm her and tried to ignore the pleasant smell of dried herbs which lingered in the room and which characterized her deputy. Instead, she made her way to the small desk where about ten bottles of pills were predictably arranged alphabetically. Finding what she had come for, she made another dash for the staff room, securely closing the door and promising to herself that, until Constance wasn't out of the damned potions lab, she would not return.

After she had given the pill, like Noah had instructed, to the young man who had then started to sport an unattractive grey colour and who seemed to slip in and out of consciousness, Amelia's control of the situation was transferred to the doctor who had finally arrived in mere seconds. With a firm voice he had ordered the two emergency medical technicians he had brought with him to give the man oxygen, put him on a gurney and to do some other things to him, which the headmistress didn't understand, but they involved syringes and a strange-looking machine. She could finally then relax a little for, as always, the doctor seemed to know what he was doing and seemed to have swiftly taken charge of the situation. He had even been so kind as to offer a ride to the hospital to Imogen who at that point had been an emotional mess.

"Oh, I hope Mr Mallard will soon be well…" Davina's voice interfered with the headmistress' recollection of the recent events and she was surprised to see that the chanting teacher was now holding a stripped blue piece of cloth in her hands. "His tie… whatever shall we do with it?" she further explained and the headmistress nodded her head in acknowledgement.

"I'll put it in one of my drawers and Imogen or Mr Mallard himself can collect it" Amelia answered offering a kind smile, the silk object being promptly put into her extended left hand.

"I must admit, the occurrences within Cackle's are becoming stranger and stranger…" the Grand Wizard declared as he entered the staff room, Algernon close on his heels.

"You can't possibly mean that what happened to Mr Mallard has to do with the blue field, can you?" truthfully with the excitement of the day, Amelia hadn't taken the time to ponder the implications of the situation. She had been far too focused on keeping their patron alive than to rationalize the events that had led to the collapse of the man.

"A healthy, young man coming close to death after touching the field? Don't you find that suspicious?" Egbert said while sitting on the old arm chair he had claimed as his own ever since he had arrived at the academy.

"But Egbert, you surely see that your theory is faulty. We have all touched the field and nothing of the sort has happened to us… "Algernon contradicted his friend, helping himself to one of the biscuits that Miss Tapioca had brought earlier into the staff room.

"Then there must be something special about Mr Mallard that made his body react in such a forceful way…"the Grand Wizard said with conviction

"Seriously, Egbert, I think you are so keen on having your legends and stories proven right, that you see evidence everywhere!" the other wizard replied being fully aware of how much his friend liked conspiracies and mysteries.

"Then how would you explain it, Algie?" Egbert asked a little bit more forcefully than strictly necessary. He knew that his theory was weak at best, but he also knew that something strange, something beyond what they had ever experienced, was happening within the academy. And he wanted to understand what was happening.

"Maybe Mr Mallard has a weak heart! Occam 's razor, Egbert! Occam's Razor!" Algernon answered calmly, a fleeting victorious smile appearing at the corners of his lips.

"Do you think that in this particular case the simplest explanation that makes the least new assumptions is the correct one? We have seen things that we have never seen before, Algie!" Egbert replied, his temper rising slightly at how dismissive his friend seemed to be of what he felt to be a very important to elucidating the mystery.

"I think that we shouldn't make assumptions that have no proof whatsoever!" the other man said equally undone about how the grand wizard seemed to see mysteries and conspiracies everywhere.

"Can't we ask Noah?" the chanting teacher's shy, dismissive voice, put a stop to the argument between the two wizards who looked at her strangely.

"I beg your pardon?" Egbert asked, his mind trying to figure out what she was talking about.

"Noah Elwood… the doctor that came here" the headmistress explained and looked at Davina encouraging her to continue her idea.

"Well, you want to know if what happened to Evan is because of that horrible field, right?" Davina followed simply as she was munching on one of the delicious chocolate-chip biscuits that were innocently standing on the headmistress' desk "We could ask Noah if something had been wrong with Evan before today. If he says that nothing had been wrong with him, then the Grand Wizard is right. If he says that Evan had been sick before, then Mr Rowan Webb is right" the chanting teacher offered a beaming smile to the two men who were stunned that her simple train of thought had put an end to a discussion that would have taken hours.

"And will this Dr Elwood know?" the grand wizard asked haughtily feeling quite undone that a witch had put an end to his argument.

"Oh yes… he is a very good doctor!" Miss Bat answered with an enthusiastic nod.

"And is he trustworthy?" Algernon inquired.

"Yes… he likes Hope…" she answered as if her answer gave sufficient proof of the doctor's trustworthiness.

"How do you know that he likes Hope, Davina?" Amelia turned her head from her cup of tea to her teacher, shocked the remark issued by the other woman

"Oh… I saw them in Cosy's together… they were sitting really close to one another and were talking quietly, like lovers. I thought I told you that…or maybe it was Constance…" she replied dismissingly unaware of the way in which the headmistress was looking at her.

"Are you alright, dear lady?" Egbert asked seeing that the headmistress was no longer paying attention the conversation and was once again paying particular attention to the cup of tea in front of her.

"I think the problem is slightly more complicated than we expected it to be…" Amelia declared softly and three pairs of eyes turned to look at her and wait for explanations. "Three people came to Cackles in the past month. The first one was Mr Mallard who offered to sponsor the academy. The second one was Dr Elwood who started to treat Constance and the third one was Miss Hawthorne who came as a student potions teacher. We knew that there was a connection between Mr Mallard and Miss Hawthorne, but now, if what Davina says is true, there is also a connection between Dr Elwood and Miss Hawthorne…"

"Why was Dr Elwood treating Miss Hardbroom? Was she sick?" Algernon asked the headmistress, baffled at the new turn of things.

"Yes she was. Very sick" Amelia answered regretfully wishing to respect her deputy's privacy and thus not really wanting to go into more details than necessary

"Everything seems to revolve around this Miss Hawthorne…whenever we manage to get her out of the potions lab, she will have a lot of questions to answer to!" the Grand Wizard replied, deep in thought.

"That's it, Egbert. Miss Hawthorne!" Algernon said calmly "They are both here because of her. Tell me, is Miss Hawthorne good looking?"

"Oh yes… she is very pretty. She has this beautiful curly black hair, and big blue eyes that sparkle and always dresses like the girls in Imogen's magazines." Davina answered quickly but the two men turned to the headmistress.

"Yes she is quite good looking" the headmistress replied not exactly understanding where Mr Rowan-Webb was going with his rational

"Why would two men follow a good-looking woman, Egbert?" Algernon rhetorically asked.

"I know where you are going with this, Algie and I think you've read one too many romance novels. Plus, didn't you hear what Miss Cackle said? Miss Hawthorne was the last one that arrived at the academy" he would have continued to berate his friend's idea more but then the castle gave a low grumble and the Grand Wizard could feel the earth shaking under his feet.

"Earthquake!" Davina squealed and proceeded to walk towards the door.

"No!" Amelia shouted and the chanting teacher stopped in her tracks.

When the walls of the castle started to shake, Amelia's first impulse was to hide under her desk. But two things stopped her from going with her instinct of self-preservation. The first one was the look that the Grand Wizard threw her. It was a knowing look, a look that told her that Egbert Hellebore could feel it wasn't a normal earthquake. Secondly, the castle itself was urging the headmistress to stay put. Yes. As strange and absurd as it might have sounded, the building itself, filled with ancient magic, was making the headmistress remain in the staff room. She could feel the Castle fighting back. She could hear how the magic within the bricks was fighting. And most of all, she could sense that all the magic was going towards one place: the potions lab. But then she also knew that it wasn't enough. She didn't know how she knew it, but she knew that all that ancient magic wasn't enough to fill the void that the field had created inside the castle.

"She's fighting back… but it's not enough…" Amelia said in a strangled voice, not exactly knowing what had possessed her to say such a thing.

What baffled her more was that she immediately knew what to do. She didn't know why or how she knew it but she felt like an invisible force was guiding her towards the wall. She placed her hands on the wall of the staff room and could feel the small flow of magic leaving her fingers. Taking their cue from the headmistress, the three other people in the room placed their hands on the closest walls as well, and Amelia felt their magic being absorbed by old stone. They magic was like a catalyst for she could sense that the flow of energy had increased and that the void inside the potions lab was filling quickly. After a few seconds the ground stopped shaking and after dismissing Davina to check on the girls, she looked up to meet the gaze of the two wizards who were tiredly slumped on the two staff room armchairs.

"What was that? What does it mean?" Algernon asked tiredly looking at the other two occupants of the room.

"It means, dear Algie that we might get to meet that extraordinary good-looking Miss Hawthorne sooner than expected…" Egbert answered with irony exchanging a knowing smile with the headmistress.

* * *

><p>Constance started to tell the girls to hide under their desks but found that she was unable to find her voice. A sharp pain, unlike anything she had ever felt before, pierced her chest and before she could do something about it, her knees felt the cold stone of the floor. Her body was violently protesting at the lack of air and, under the frail, pale hand that was now desperately clutching at the material of her dress, she could feel her heart beating madly. Her lungs burned, hungry for air and she could feel tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Was this it? Was this the end of her miserable existence? For a second she hoped that it was for the pain was intensifying each and every time she tried and failed to force some oxygen into her system. Her vision swimming and dimming slightly she looked at the stunned faces of the four students in the room. They were scared, that much was obvious. And then something quite extraordinary happened. The ground stooped shaking, and for the first time in days Constance could feel the air of the potions lab enter her lungs freely.<p>

She gracefully rose to her still-wobbly feet and took a surprisingly deep breath. Although her chest still slightly protested in pain, the feeling of stifling heaviness, of tightness and the pressure that seemed to always be building in her chest with every breath she took now seemed almost gone. Without really understanding what was happening, the deputy unconsciously flexed her fingers and had yet another surprise, for she could feel the familiar build up of magical energy within her fingers, waiting for her command to be unleashed. She pointed a slightly trembling hand to the nearest object and with a flick of her wrist the innocent mini-cauldron disappeared from existence in a wave of orange energy. Tears of happiness were threatening to fall and had she not had four pairs of eyes watching her intently, she would have allowed them to spill freely. But as it was, she did try to maintain some composure and instead urged the girls, in a no-nonsense voice to also try to check whether their magical powers had returned.

As the girls were chanting levitation and transformation spells under their breaths, Constance decided to check on the only person that was unaccounted for and who, if her suspicions were correct, was responsible for that favourable turn of fate. Her legs feeling much more stable than they had felt in weeks, she purposefully strode towards the supplies cupboard and, with a still trembling hand, swung the door open. There, inside the dark, small room the young woman was sitting on the floor leaning on one of the shelves for support, her long legs indelicately sprawled in front of her, her hands gripping at the dark material of her skirt.

"Miss Hawthorne, are you alright?" Constance said in a slightly worried voice and approached the woman to check whether she was responsive or not

"Yeah…I am…" she said in an apparently nonchalant, yet slightly strained voice raising her head to face the gaze of the deputy.

"Our magic is back…" the deputy's voice faltered slightly and she fought the urge to move a step backwards.

There was nothing technically wrong with Miss Hawthorne's face but Constance couldn't help but feel apprehensive while looking at her. Her face was pale, paler than it had been before, and her skin seemed to emit a soft glow which the deputy dismissed as a trick of the light. The smudges of what appeared to be dyed blood on her cheeks offered a gruesome contrast to the whiteness of everything else. And then there were her eyes. It was those eyes that made Miss Hardbroom want to run away from the room in an uncharacteristic display of cowardice. Although they were the same dark blue they had been mere minutes before, the woman's eyes seemed empty. Almost lifeless. Twin treks of blood were falling from the corner of her eyes as if the woman was crying.

"What have you done?" Constance whispered slightly. It was true that there had been no love lost between herself and the younger woman, but she supposed that living in the close proximity of someone did something to change someone's feelings.

The best word that Constance could find to describe Hope was "cold". In spite of the appearances she put on for others, she wasn't excessively affectionate, she was calm to the point of seeming indifferent and she could be incredibly stubborn and hurtful at times. There was absolutely nothing about her that would have made Constance, under normal circumstances, wish to associate with her. Yet, what they had been through could be hardly considered as normal and despite her undesirable traits, Hope had weaselled her way into the deputy's heart because of one thing. She was the only person on whom Constance had ever learned to rely on implicitly. In spite of her callousness, she had been the one person in the potions lab that had held everything and everyone together. For what end, Constance did not know. Their situation had been, maybe it still was, so dire, that despite her better judgement Miss Hardbroom had been forced to trust the other woman to do the right thing. She had unwittingly placed her own life, and more importantly, the lives of the girls in Hope's hands because at that time she had no other alternative. And now, even if their situation seemed to have greatly improved, the bond that had been formed during the past few days was still strong, because Miss Hawthorne had done nothing to violate the unconscious vote of confidence the deputy had given her. That cold young woman, one of the few people she had truly been scared of, has seen her at her weakest, had stubbornly refused to leave her side when she had been expelling her own blood in that very room, had surprisingly been one of the few people in the world with whom Constance hadn't put on a mask.

"You are worried about me?" Hope gave a throaty laugh "Seven days ago you thought that I was some psychopathic murderer, and now you are worried for me?"

Constance chose to ignore the younger woman's mockery and instead went to the back of the supplies cupboard from where she retrieved a first aid kit. Wordlessly, she took Hope's left hand, cleaned the ugly gash in her palm and gently wrapped the hand with a clean white bandage. She spared a glance at the floor where a most unusual symbol had been drawn, presumably in the girl's own blood. She had never seen such a symbol before. She had no idea what it meant or what it had been used for, but she did know that Hope had decided to do some sort of ritual in order to break the magic-less vortex that had been the potions lab. Why has she waited until then? Again, the potion mistress was slightly at a loss, but she did have a pretty good guess. Although they were expressively forbidden by the Guild, she had read about blood rituals. The reason why they were frowned upon was the great cost at which they were performed which could range from a considerable shortening of a person's life to pain and even to a loss of magical power. She looked again at the symbol and could not help but wordlessly wonder what price had Hope paid for their potential freedom.

"Miss Hardbroom, when we get out of here, I would prefer if you kept to yourself all that has trespassed between us these past days… it would not do if too many people knew too much about me" Hope said calmly, flexing the pale fingers of her left hand and testing the strength of the wrapping.

"Are you going to remain at Cackle's?" Constance asked in a serious tone after nodding to the girl's request.

"I still haven't completed my potions apprenticeship, have I?" she replied in the same derisory tone and Constance fought the urge to scoff in return. "I think it would be best if I remained, until matters settled, don't you think?"

Constance gave Hope a long, hard look and considered what she was saying. If asked the same question a week before, she would have gladly told Hope to pack her bags. But everything had changed in less than a week and she had become aware of things she had never known they existed. Hope, regardless of her intentions when coming at Cackle's, hadn't hurt any of the students and had promised to keep the girls safe. On the other hand, the other Elemental Master, Mr Mallard, had been more than content to lock them into the potions lab. As the girl herself had said, she had been the one towards who the attack had been keyed as such, if she left the threat would be removed.

"Miss Hardbroom, there is something here, within Cackle's, that is very precious … I cannot tell you what it is, but I can tell you that I cannot leave without making certain that Evan cannot touch this thing…" she interrupted Constance's musings, her tone, although apparently calm, laced with a certain degree of panic.

"I see…" Constance said more to herself than to Hope and once again pondered the implications of what the woman was saying. If what she said was true, and she suspected that it was, it seemed that within the academy there was something that Mr Mallard wanted. What it was, she did not know. But what she did know was that Hope, although she could not claim that she fully trusted the woman, could protect both the thing and the girls from Mr Mallard. "As you wish, Miss Hawthorne. Yet, if you want to pretend to be a potions teacher we need to have a serious discussion about safety measures"

"I fully agree, Miss Hardbroom…" Hope answered, relieved that the potions mistress gave into her demands and surprised that she seemed to have some sort of an ally in the deputy. She fought back the urge to laugh for, unknowingly to him, by locking them in the potions lab, Evan had done her a very big favour.

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><p><em>The spring air enveloped them in a gentle embrace and the rays of the weak sun caressed their skin. Under the oldest of the cherry tries in the orchard of the mansion stood a couple, him holding her into a tight embrace from behind and her leaning into him as if they were one. The girl was at that age when every girl dreams of being a princess and finding prince charming and her appearance seemed more than suited for the role. Her hair, black and wavy, reached her waist and her skin was so white that one could barely distinguish where her skin ended and her white silk dress begun. Her eyes, big and blue, full of sparkle and laughter were glued into the young man's hazel ones and her red lips, the only spot of colour on her angular features, were parted into what seemed to be a perpetual smile. If the girl fit the role of a fairytale princess, so did the young man for he was tall and broad-shouldered, with a lean frame and tanned, healthy skin. His hair, the colour of honey, was ruffled by the wind and her left hand which seemed to be continuously caressing his scalp. The only thing that did not fit the picture of perfection and unity the couple seemed to portray, was the look in his eyes. His eyes, big and hazel, with fine traces of gold in them, did not share the girls' mirth. They were sad and regretful, as if the man had lost something very dear to him. There were lines on his face, lines that did not match his tender age of seventeen and had it not been for the shy, slightly strained smile at the corner of his lips, he would have seemed much older. <em>

"_Do you love me, Evan?" she asked in a childish voice that unsurprisingly suited her well. _

_The young man did not answer immediately. Instead he took the time to look at her and caress her pale face with his slightly calloused hands. He kissed her forehead and her hands and for a second his eyes seemed to be filled with tears. He placed his hand under he chin and raised it slightly. While he looked into her big eyes, as blue as the clear summer sky, he could feel a piece of his soul shatter. He placed a gentle kiss on her lips and she unconsciously leaned into his touch, her hands gripping at the back of his blue shirt. She closed her eyes and placed her head onto his chest listening to the rapid pounding of his heart and clinging to his shirt for dear life. _

"_More than you will ever know, my love…" he finally answered in a strained voice, his hazel eyes taking in the beauty of her pale features._

"_Then why are you so sad?" she asked in an innocent, child-like voice and Evan chose not to answer "I will miss them too, you know? Papa and everyone at Hawthorne Mansion… But I am glad that we are doing this… all those stories… they are silly anyway"_

_Evan nodded his approval and once again kissed her fully on the lips, taking in her trademark smell of scorched, dry earth combined with expensive perfume and the wave of heat emanated by her body. He circled his long arms around her small frame and held her close to his heart, which was currently breaking in a million pieces. Whispering some words under his breath, his irises turned brilliantly white and she held the girl closer to him. At first the girl thought nothing of it and did not struggle. But as she could feel her energy leaving her at an alarming rate she instinctively knew that something was wrong. Her eyes turned blood red and her small hands struggled to push him away. He held her closer in an embrace that would bring her death, not allowing her to summon her elements. She tried to scream but could only produce a feeble grunt of pain and she tried to raise the flames she usually commanded to no avail. He was bigger than her, physically stronger and had much better control of his elements than she did. For a moment, Hope thought that it would be a fitting way to die: in his arms, out of love and a healthy dose of naivety. But she refused to go at the tender age of fifteen. She refused to give him the satisfaction of winning. She once again tried to produce her flames and could see that small patches of the grass in front of them were already alit. He forcefully released her from his embrace, pushing her back making her fall on the green grass. She raised her head, anger and hurt bubbling in her veins, to see him look at her sorrowfully, his arms limp, his head inclined in shame. _

"_How could you?" she whispered rising to her feel, tears falling from the corners of her eyes._

"_Please don't leave…" Evan replied slowly _

"_You tried to kill me…" Hope almost shouted, her small frame shaking with anger_

"_I couldn't do it… I tried… Everything in my blood, my ancestors, my brain, my power, told me that I need to kill you. But I couldn't…Every drop of your blood, of your power, should have been mine. But I couldn't…" he whispered, his own voice a mixture of confusion, anger and weakness. "What have you done to me, Hope?"_

_She didn't answer. She couldn't answer. All the kind words that she wanted to say, all the words of forgiveness that she wanted to express were stuck in her throat. No matter how much she tried, there was something inside of her that was preventing her from being kind to him. His words were foreign to her. She couldn't understand him. Anger was dripping in her blood like poison and she couldn't find a way to comprehend what he was saying. She couldn't find a way to forgive him. _

"_Don't leave, Hope… Don't leave, my love…you are the only one who can help me… you can make me do the right thing… don't leave, my love… "he pathetically sobbed, falling to his knees in front of her. _

_Hope took a deep breath and looked at the sad pathetic show that was unravelling in front of her. With a sure hand she cleared away her tears and smudged mascara. They had all been right in their warnings and she had been stupid enough not to listen to them. She had been stupid enough to believe that Evan and herself could beat thousands of years of animosity between their families. She had been a fool and she could see it now. She would no longer allow herself to be a fool, she would no longer allow herself to be a pray. Instead, she was resolute to become the hunter. _

"_Rise" she commanded softly yet firmly and he heeded her words promptly, a pained expression gracing his handsome features. "From this day on, we shall forget all that has happened between us. You are nothing to me but my enemy. Forget all the words that I have said to you. Forget that I ever loved you. Forget it. " she followed in the same controlled voice, her expression too stern for a fifteen year old. _

"_From the moment I turn my back on you, I will be gone forever, and I will only be the life that you have left behind. Nothing more" she continued, hardening her heart against his utterly shattered features and the tears that were freely flowing on his cheeks. He was broken. _

"_One word of advice before I leave, Evan: don't love me. For your own good, don't love me. Because the next time we meet there will be nothing left between us to stop me from wishing you dead…"_

Evan sluggishly opened his eyes and took in the white walls and the smell of disinfectant of the room he found himself in. It took him a moment to understand that he was in a hospital room connected to various IV drips and machines. The sound of her voice still lingered in his mind, her cruel, cold words making his skin crawl. For a second he pondered turning the heart monitor off because its annoying beeping was drowning out the sound her voice. Had he been able to move, he would have probably done so. But, to his surprise his body seemed horribly unhelpful and even the small feat of turning his head to observe his surroundings made him feel weak and dizzy. He wondered what had happened to him, the pain in his chest, probably dulled by morphine, giving too little a clue. He tired to raise his hand to push the call button in order to get some answers, but once again he found that he did not have the strength to do so. Had it not been for the impressive amount of drugs in his blood stream, he would have probably panicked at his feebleness. But, as things stood, he meekly decided to give up and closed his eyes. He would once again loose himself in dreams of her. His Hope. His downfall, his greatest weakness, and his love…

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><p>With the aid of the potions mistress, who for once seemed quite stable on her legs, Hope was pulled up to her feet. She took a moment to smooth the crease lines in her cream blouse and dark skirt. With a flick of her wrist she made the symbol on the stone floor disappear taking a second glance at the exact spot where the ritual had taken place. She once again tried to tell herself that it had been for the best that she had had no other choice, but, the feelings of guilt her words were supposed to abate seemed oddly absent. Instead, she felt oddly energized, as if something had given her a new hold on life. Yes, she realized that she had a new opportunity, a second chance to do everything right. She offered a kind smile to the deputy and walked from the supplies cupboard in silence.<p>

As she entered the room that had been her prison for more than a week, she gave an encouraging smile to the girls and slowly walked towards the door. She took a deep breath and easily opened the wooden thing that had refused to budge for the past week. Then she was confronted with the blue field that was the product of Evan's magic. Hope could not resist touching it and for an instant, a mere second, she could feel the signature of his magic; that both wonderful and awful energy that had both protected and threatened her so very long ago. She refused to reminiscence. It would do her little good especially as she had made her mind to destroy the man once and for all. Instead, she focused her own energy in her palms and , with a swift move, she dispelled the blue field. As the field crumbled into nothingness she couldn't help but smile at the incredible sense of liberation that overtook her.

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><p>The hospital room was poorly lit and would have been strangely silent if not for the steady annoying beeping of a heart monitor. The man who entered the room was tall, with broad shoulders and a relatively small waist and was wearing a dark suit covered by a black travelling cloak. His dark hair, reaching the nape of his neck, was partially hiding his handsome, strong features. He took a moment to look around the room, his vividly blue eyes pausing slightly on the form of a blond woman who was uncomfortably sleeping in one of the hospital-provided armchairs and he wordlessly wiggled his fingers towards her. She suddenly seemed much more comfortable and in a deeper sleep than before. Then, in long strides, that were uncommonly graceful for his strongly-built frame, he made his way to the hospital bed where a blond, young man was sleeping peacefully. At the sight of the man he offered a chilling smile to no one in particular and conjured a chair next to his bed. For a moment he sat in his chair soundlessly but then, as if what he was seeing amused him immensely, he could no longer contain himself and the throaty sound of his laughter filled the room.<p>

"Poor, poor Evan… if only you could see yourself now…" the man said in a mocking child-like voice, his hand ruffling the blond dishevelled hair of the patient "Do you think Hope will be grateful to me for what I did to you? I think she will be more than grateful… I think she will be ecstatic… " he chuckled lightly his blue eyes sparkling with mirth. "I really thought I would be able to finish you off… your pain, your foolish pain, made you vulnerable, you know? But you just wouldn't die, would you? You stubborn, stubborn boy!" his voice held a maniac trace of anger and he once again looked at his surroundings "But I could do it now… it wouldn't take much…I could just shove a syringe with air in one of your veins, or I could disconnect one of those blasted IV's … But no… I will let you live. Do you know why?" he asked in the same cold, sarcastic voice undisturbed that his interlocutor was in a drug-induced sleep and was unable to hear him, a sadistic smirk appearing at the corners of his mouth "Because I will enjoy watching her do it. I will enjoy watching you squirm as the only person you have ever loved kills you in cold blood…"

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><p><em>AN: So we've once again reached the end of the chapter. You know what to do if you wish to contact me. I look forward to your comments (seriously, they make my day and give me a warm fuzzy feeling ) ) <em>

_*gives away enough chocolate brownies to last everyone until the next chapter is posted* _

_Sneak Preview: The Grand reunion at Cackles is not as happy as some might expect… _


	12. Chapter 12

AN:

Dear Readers,

*emerges from a huge stack of papers*

I need to apologize for taking forever to upload this chapter. Exams are a real pain and unfortunately, they are something that tends to interfere with fanfiction. For those of you who are concerned, I can honestly promise that the only thing that could stop me from discontinuing Fire and Ice is a comet falling on my house (or an equally catastrophic event). That being said, for the next month I cannot promise a steady uploading program. As I said, I have exams and as much as I would like to just forget about them and immerse myself in the wonderful WW world, alas I cannot.

Once again Hope will feel compelled to give all of you a history lesson which while might seem redundant at this point, will be the basis of everything that happens henceforth in both Book 1 and the following two parts. Unfortunately, the wonderful Jill Murphy didn't really give us much of an insight into how her magical world works, so I am taking the liberty to fill that void.

One important change is that I uploaded a cover for this story. In it I drew Hope and Evan the way I see them. Unfortunately fanfiction thumbnails are not even close to being big enough for you to see the picture clearly. So, if you do want to see them as I imagine them (and as far as my drawing skills help me), please let me know and I will find a way of showing you the picture.

Last but not the least, I want to thank all of those who have read the story thus far. A special thanks to all my reviewers: **Chrissiemusa,HBrules, PrincessSammi ,chocomoon, AleksandraHardbroom, melissaIvory, dartsagel, ****DissectingPomegranates****, pesi** (if I missed someone, please let me know and I will add you ASAP). Also, a special thanks to **NCD** who reminded me that at least one person wanted to know how this story ends…

_Warning: There are some scenes which, while not overly sexual, are somewhat intimate. Reader discretion is advised._

Yours Faithfully,

Lemondrop

PS: I've been working on this for almost 12 hours straight... so please excuse any spelling/grammar mistakes... coffee-induced frenzy only goes so far...

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><p><strong>FIRE AND ICE<strong>

**BOOK I: THE WIELDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR**

**Chapter 12: I'm not upset that you lied to me, I'm upset that from now on I can't believe you (Friedrich Nietzsche)**

Noah Elwood was having one of the most insanely surreal days in his life didn't know whether he should have cried or laughed at the insanity of the situation as he paced the floor of the familiar Cardiology Unit of the London Hospital for Magical Diseases and Afflictions. Sitting numbly on one of the standard blue chairs, the gym mistress cradled a now-cold cup of coffee, while starring blankly at the wall in front of her, her tanned cheeks showing the remains of the still-fresh streaks of tears. The doctor didn't know why he had agreed to accompany the gym teacher to the hospital. Maybe he didn't want to see the woman hurt herself in her distress, or maybe he didn't want to spoil his cover as a responsible doctor in the eyes of the headmistress. Also he had no idea why he was nervously pacing, for he was pretty certain that he wasn't worried for the life or welfare of Hope's direst enemy. Yes, Noah didn't know a lot of things but what he did know was that extremely healthy, extremely powerful, twenty-seven-year old men don't have sudden heart attacks. They don't. So why did Evan Mallard do?

The doctor supposed that his desire to know the answer to that particular question was what made him accompany the gym mistress to the hospital. He had heard two different accounts of what had happened from both the headmistress and Miss Drill and from a medical point of view there was absolutely no reason for the elusive Mr Mallard to be currently strapped to his bed, connected to a myriad of machines. This made Noah think that the cause of Evan's current predicament was a magical one and that intrigued him for a number of reasons. Now, magic could do many things, including, if the spell was deadly enough or had enough killing intent behind it, stop one's heart but as far as he knew, no one had actually cursed Mr Mallard. Plus, having a heart attack didn't stop one's heart; it usually occurred from the rupture of a plaque within the coronary artery which blocked the artery and caused the heart muscle do die. As far as he knew, there were no bloody spells that formed random clots with one's bloodstream or heart for that matter.

Quite frankly, the doctor was at a loss and felt, for the second time in the past month, that all the knowledge he had gathered during the six long years in medical school was absolutely obsolete. Any type of disease or affliction, whether it was magical or not, had to have some sort of cause. At least that was what he had firmly believed until he had been confronted with what was happening to both Constance, and now Mr Mallard. When he had been called by the headmistress he had desperately hoped that the people in the potions lab had managed to somehow come out. His hopes had been soon dashed when he had heard that it was Evan who needed his assistance. For a moment Noah had even pondered if it would be appropriate to help the man. A part of him had wanted to refuse to go to Cackle's and let the man who had done such harm to both Constance and Hope suffer and maybe even succumb to a miserable death. Yet, as he had been holding the phone to his ear and was listening to the desperate voice of the headmistress asking for instructions he remembered that as a doctor he had taken a binding vow to help everyone regardless of his feelings for them. As always, his good conscience won out.

From what he had gathered, the man was touching the blue magical field before the episode happened, so this lead the doctor to make two assumptions, the first one being that for some sort of reason the power of the field had physically overwhelmed the man and had brought him into the present condition. The problem with this particular train of thought was that it was faulty. While a sudden increase in magical exposure could have some physical effects on the body, he doubted that it was the case with Evan for one simple reason: his body was already acclimatised to high levels of magic. The aforementioned lead the doctor to his second assumption.

The second idea Noah was operating on both excited and terrified him. It was as if something (or someone) had willed the man's heart to stop. Or rather, more accurately, had willed one of his arteries to close up and block the flow of blood to his heart. This idea both excited and terrified Noah for he knew who would benefit the most from Evan's potential death. Did Hope manage to find a way out of the blasted class room? And if it wasn't Hope who was behind the man's predicament, then who was? As far as he knew, although Evan couldn't claim to be the nicest of people, he didn't have heaps of enemies that wished him dead. Or maybe he did. Who knew? Mr Mallard was after all as elusive as Hope herself and he realized that he knew as much about his relations as he knew about Hope's. Which was not much. In fact, apart from himself he had no idea if his best friend had any other friends.

This entire affair was confusing him greatly. For a second Noah wondered if, in retrospect, knowing what he knew now he would have still followed Hope on her mission. He sincerely doubted it. It wasn't that he didn't wish to help his friend. On the contrary, really. It was that the entire affair had cast far too many shadows upon her character.

" …_at least you will have the consolation of keeping your best friend and her most noble intentions on a polished pedestal forever" _He involuntarily remembered what Evan said what seemed like aeons ago, but was in fact a little more than a week. Was the man right? Had he not come with Hope to the Academy would he have still seen her as he used to? In fact, if he thought about it he realized that most of his doubts about his friend stemmed from her conduct during this particular situation. Beforehand, he had never stopped to analyse her character. He had never felt the need to know why she did certain things the way she did them. He used to simply take her words for granted, her actions as a given and her beliefs as the absolute truth. So what had changed?

Was realizing that he knew next to nothing about the woman that had been his faithful companion for the past ten years enough to dismiss her friendship? Or was he still under the sinister influence of the Master of Water and his ability to influence thoughts? Noah was was in this particular confused state of mind when he felt the irritating vibrations of his cell phone in his pocket. Knowing that the little contraption usually brought nothing but bad news, he hesitated for a moment. Yet, the incessant vibration and his own curiosity won out and with a steady hand he put the small black phone to his ear.

"Doctor Elwood speaking…" he answered in a steady, albeit slightly tired, voice. As he was listening to the voice on the other end, Noah's eyes grew as big as saucers and his mouth spread into a smile of happiness and relief.

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><p>When the castle walls violently shook one more time and she could feel a massive wave or energy disappear into nothingness, Amelia Cackle threw any kind of composure she might have had out the window and started to run towards the potions lab. She once again cursed her pudgy form, ill-fitted for any type of exercise, for the exact three seconds it took her to reach the room seemed like an eternity. She didn't know what to expect and it was with an extreme amount of trepidation that she approached the corridor where the potions laboratory was. The blue field that had been plaguing them for days was gone and its cold blue shimmer was replaced by the natural day light flooding the corridor from the small windows. It gave the entire corridor an ill-suited air of normalcy that Amelia immediately resented. After all that had happened, the castle should have not looked so very normal. She wished it would bear some form of battle scar that would remind them of the anxiety, the fear and the trepidation of the past few days. The headmistress had no way of knowing but her wish had been more than granted.<p>

Miss Hawthorne, much paler and thinner than she remembered her to be, was holding the door to the potions lab open and, one by one, the four students and their teacher exited the room on shaky, tired legs. A wave of relief hit Amelia and she walked towards the potions teacher she had come to consider as her own child. For a moment Amelia wondered what to say. There were so many things that she wanted to say to Constance, so many ways in which she wanted to convey the emotion of the past few days that she found herself unable to speak. Instead she looked into the potion mistress' eyes and she knew that Constance understood. In those deep, dark eyes, like long, incessant tunnels, Amelia could see a mirror of everything her soul wanted to express. Words were not necessary between them, and with a certain amount of boldness that was only appropriate after such a dire situation, she pulled the teacher into a heartfelt hug. For a moment she could feel Constance stiffen in her embrace but then, as if the younger woman got used to the contact, she felt her tense muscles relax.

Hope looked at the scene between the headmistress and the deputy with a strange feeling of longing. No matter how hard she tried she would never be able to form such a connection with another human being. Maybe because she hadn't been taught how to properly interact with others... After all, how can you interact with people who are continuously and consistently afraid of you? Or maybe it was because there had always been a part of her that had never been quite human. Bottom line was that she could never hope to have someone look at her with such unconventional love in their eyes. The only person that had seemingly loved her had wanted nothing but to deprive her of her ancestral power. The only person that was supposed to love her unconditionally had instead done so out of parental duty and fear. Her only friend was slipping away from her at an alarming rate. For a second, the realization that she was alone hit her with the force of a truck and she had to control the involuntary wave of resentment that filled her heart. How was it that a woman, as cold and dour as Constance Hardbroom, could inspire such devotion while she, no matter of what she did, could inspire none?

"Miss Hawthorne, I presume?" a male voice rang behind her and Hope instinctively turned to see the face of a middle-aged wizard "Grand Wizard Egbert Hellebore, at your service" he recommended himself and the girl gave a faint smile in return.

The young woman took a long, hard look at the Grand Wizard and appraised him carefully. The man seemed pompous, his gestures unnecessarily embellished and his clothing far too ornamented to be deemed appropriate for everyday use. His shoulder-length hair, trimmed beard and the solid wooden staff he carried spoke of someone who valued tradition, someone who knew and adhered to the Old Ways. She quickly assessed his magical levels and discovered that they were nothing above average for a wizard, which for someone claiming the title of Grand Wizard was highly unusual. Inheritors of Merlin's title, Grand Wizards were usually selected by the High Wizarding Council to be the ones that protected the integrity of the magical world from non-magical people, to help heads of state who truly believed in magic and to protect and maintain the peace within the ever-small convent of magical beings. Since the time of Merlin himself, the Grand Wizard had been chosen from hand-picked, talented individuals whose magical prowess was above those of their peers. Yet the man in front of her seemed to have absolutely normal magical levels. His power wasn't anything out of the ordinary, so why had he been chosen to hold such a title?

The magical world of Britain was one whose rules and regulations had survived for more than a thousand years. It was a cloistered community that was divided into two covenants: that of witches and that of wizards. For non-magical people such segregation would have seemed terribly archaic, yet it suited the purposes of their world well. Witches and wizards had different roles, different purposes, different interactions with normal human being and, as such, different laws and rules of conduct. While the segregation had been lessened somewhat in the recent decades, mostly because higher educational establishments like Weird Sisters, and even some schools, catered to the needs of both sexes, it was ever so present in the workings of the higher government. The reason behind this was simple and somewhat redundant: tradition. The members of the Witches' Guild and those of the High Wizarding Council were members of the oldest families in the land, some of their family trees dating back to King Arthur. There were about twenty such families and the right to sit on either of these forums was inherited. Quite frankly, Hope was surprised that these bloodlines still existed but she guessed that most of them put pressure on the heirs to reproduce. There were even rumours of unlawful potions and spells used to ensure conception, the result being less than satisfactory heirs. Of course, after some incidents involving reckless youths, feeble-minded witches or wizards and just plain evil people, both forums had established certain guidelines to admit someone into their folds: they needed to be more than sixty years of age, sound of mind and free of spiritual blemish. Ever since those rules had been established a couple of hundred years ago, two families had never had members on the council: Hawthorne and Mallard. The reason for the exclusion of two of the oldest, most prominent families was, yet again, ridiculously simple: none of their heirs lived to reach sixty.

These people, raised in a very traditionalist environment were reluctant to make any concessions that were not in accordance with their archaic laws. As such, for centuries the magical world had been ruled by people who scorned progress, valued convention and stifled any attempt to modify the norms. In essence, their small community was in every way backward. That was why people who were coming from a non-magical background, either by affiliation or by simply being born with an extraordinary magical talent, found it hard to adjust to the seemingly senseless rules and partiality towards bureaucracy. Maintaining these ancient traditions the workings of the High Wizarding Council when choosing a Grand Wizard were very much similar to those of the Vatican Cardinals while choosing a pope. Those who sat on the council proposed one or several of their own to claim the title, and after days, or even months in extreme cases when a suitable candidate was not available, of voting the wizard who attained unanimity would be chosen. Much of their choice was based on politics. It was widely known in the intimate circles of the council that there were in fact two fractions: the ones who adhered to the Old Ways Merlin himself had established centuries before and the adepts of more liberal, progressive ideas, who sought to choose someone who would facilitate integration of the magical community into the current affairs of the modern world. Suffice to say that the latter was quite an unpopular notion and that Grand Wizards were usually followers of the Old Ways. Moreover as magical humans had much longer life-spans and that the title of Grand Wizard was granted for life, most voting processes were one-in-a-lifetime affair for the council members. One can only imagine how much pressure was put on those old men to choose the defender of their society properly. As such, they usually tended to choose based on three simple, safe, criteria: magical power, lineage and political views.

It was for that particular reason that Hope could not understand how the man in front of her had attained such a title. His power was not unusual. His lineage was obscure. As far as she knew, the Hellebore family was not one of the grand families of the magical world. She did make a mental note to ask Noah about the family, as she could not claim that she was acquainted with all of them. Only his obvious political view recommended him as a suitable candidate. So how did this obscure, otherwise unimportant man, weasel his way at the top of the highest magical forum in Britain? She did not have an answer to that particular question, but she did realize that if there was something about him that impressed the old hags on High Wizarding Council to the point that they abolished one of their most sacred rules, she needed to be very careful around him.

"Hope Hawthorne, pleased to meet you" she answered calmly, a simpering smile on her lips and a deceivingly pleasant expression plastered on her face. "How can I help you sir?"

"Well, Miss Hawthorne, if you feel up to it, we would all appreciate it if you answered some questions…" the Grand Wizard replied, his face as still as if set in stone.

"Of course…" she replied calmly after a moment of silence, her blue eyes never leaving those of the Grand Wizard. "But first, would you mind if I took a shower and changed out of these clothes?" she followed in a derisory tone and hurried towards her room, leaving the man behind with a smile on his face.

* * *

><p><em>The young man entered the small house, his tall frame bending slightly so he didn't hit his head on the smaller than average door frame. He could hear the sound of pots and pans being shuffled around and, with the beginning of an amused smile of his face, he made his way towards the kitchen of the humble abode. There she was in the middle of the small kitchen, dressed in a red T-shirt, short jeans that barely covered her curves and sandals adorning her small white feet. Her black hair was tied at the nape of her neck in a long braid that reached the small of her back. Her thin hands were busily trying to cut something that looked like chocolate, working surely yet carefully with the big knife. Her face seemed serene yet a look of concentration was clear in her sharp blue eyes, her slightly knitted brows and her pouting lips. <em>

_He took a long, hard look at her and was, for a moment, struck at the air of normality surrounding the entire situation. There, in the small cabin he had rented they stopped being the mistress of fire and the master of air. They stopped being mortal enemies. Instead, they were just Hope and Evan. More so, they were a man and a woman who were madly in love with one another. This entire moment, him coming home after a long tedious day of studying the horribly boring laws of the government and her making… whatever she was making while waiting for him, seemed so surreal, so idyllic that he had to take a double take to make sure it was all real. This mock-suburban life wasn't for them. People like them, who had the fate of the entire world in their hands, did not deserve this degree of normalcy. Yet, he had to admit that it did send an odd ward current through him. He wanted this life. He wanted to wake up every morning and go about his tedious tasks knowing that she would be waiting for him. Moreover, he craved it. He would have stood there and looked at her forever but hearing him come she turned to face him. _

"_Hey… welcome back. Wasn't expecting you so early…" the girl came to him and placed a quick kiss on his lips and he fought the urge to laugh. _

"_What are you doing, Hope?" he asked a small chuckle escaping his lips. Looking at her from such a close distance he could see patches of flour and cocoa powder on her face, neck and clothes. He found it endearing. He knew that if she could help it she would have never even set foot into the kitchen. She was absolutely, completely pants at cooking anyway. _

"_Isn't it obvious? I am baking you a cake…" she answered as if it was the most obvious, natural thing to do and he once again refrained to laugh by placing a kiss on one of the chocolaty patches on her neck._

"_**You** are baking? And why is that? Weren't the confectionary delights that we ordered from London enough to satisfy your craving for sugary treats?" he replied in an amused voice, his long arms circling her waist, drawing her closer to him. It still amazed him how perfectly she fit into his arms. It was as if she was a small piece broken from his frame._

"_Don't laugh at me…" she said with a smirk her small fists lightly punching his chest." I wanted to make something special for our anniversary…"_

"_Anniversary? Sorry to disappoint you, my love, but that is on the 25th of the month… today is the 13th" he replied with mock-seriousness, his lips leaving trails down her neck._

"_I know, silly… the anniversary of when I first saw you… when you first came to my house and you were scared of me, remember?" she answered seriously, her voice quieter than normal. _

_He lifted his head from the nape of her neck and looked into the deep blue eyes, a lump promptly forming into his throat. He had no idea how to respond to that. While Hope was quite affectionate when she wanted to be, she was also rather careless. He was usually the one to remember things like birthdays, anniversaries, and prior commitments. For her to remember something like that was close to extraordinary. For her to ask him if he remembered the moment he had first laid eyes on her was borderline insane. How could he have not remembered when her face, her movements, her eyes, her clothes, her laughter had been engraved into the depths of his heart? How could he have forgotten the moment that had changed his life forever? He wondered how he should answer her question. How he could explain the magnitude of what had happened on that hot summer day on the lawn of the Hawthorne Mansion. He didn't have enough words to explain the importance of that day for him. The English language and its extensive vocabulary failed to produce something even close to the nondescript feelings he had experienced. Yet, when he looked into her eyes he knew that he didn't need to explain himself. She understood. Instead he pulled her closer to him, and she rested her head on his chest while he kissed the top of her messy dark brown locks. _

_They would have stayed in that position longer than they did but the small kitchen was filling with a thick cloud of smoke. Smelling the pungent odour, Hope leaped from his arms and moved towards the oven. A series of fluid movements later, she had opened the oven, took a strange-looking round object from it and threw on the counter. For a moment Evan wanted to remind her to use some gloves before shoving her hands into the burning oven but then he mentally chastised himself for forgetting who the girl in front of him was. Instead, his eyes focused on the burning object on the counter and how she tried to will the flames away. It obviously wasn't working. While her natural power was great, her control of it was lacking. Not wishing to burn the entire house to the ground, he lazily waved his hand and a jet of cold water fell on the burning mass. For a second she seemed startled by the stream of water in front of her, but then her body relaxed, her surprised expression being replaced with one of sheer sadness and disappointment. _

"_Granny used to say that life is like a chocolate cake… sometimes it turns out right and sometimes it doesn't…and how it turns out depends on the skills of the baker" she said softly looking at the mass of burned gunge on the kitchen counter. Her tone, her sad eyes made his heart break. Without saying anything he walked behind her and pulled her into a warm hug. _

Evan sluggishly opened his eyes, feeling his air supply cut short, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. Even after his dream was dispelled, he could still feel her in his arms. He could still hear her voice, smell her expensive perfume, and feel her soft skin under his fingertips. Why was his mind, treacherous thing, torturing him like this? Ten years had passed since he had made that fatal choice, ten years since he had lost her forever. Ten years was a long time. What couldn't he forget her? Why couldn't he get her out of his mind, his soul, his heart?

* * *

><p>Hope remembered Noah saying once, in one of his bouts of stating completely random facts, that when someone looks into a mirror they don't see themselves as the people around them do. They see an embellished metal image that the brain has concocted of the body. She remembered that particular fact because she had often wondered how others truly see her. Did they see a young woman with a perfectly lean body, appropriate curves, smooth skin and perfectly lovely face? Or did they see what she saw?<p>

She passed thin hand through her wet, black hair and could not help but offer a loop-sided, derisory grin to her reflection. It wasn't that she had a distorted image of her own body. Far from it, really. She was perfectly aware that she was a fairly attractive woman and had used this particular feat to her advantage a great deal of times. Yet, when she looked into the mirror she couldn't help but shudder. She saw beyond the empty, pretty carcass that everyone looked at on a daily basis. She saw her eyes, big and blue, and apparently beautiful, yet so very vacant and cold. She saw her lips, full and red, drawn into a harsh line. She was her skin, unnaturally pale to the point of looking dead. It made her feel terrified for the reflection in the mirror didn't look like that of a flesh and blood woman but like that of a spectre, a ghost, an apparition.

Hope closed her eyes and drew a deep, harsh breath, taking in the humid air of the bathroom. Her hands quickly busied themselves with the clean clothes she had chosen. Her eyes firmly refused to meet the eyes of the creature in the mirror. She didn't want to believe that the person who had been staring at her was in fact herself. It could not be. That person was far too unhappy, far too void of any human feeling to be her. And yet, when was the last time she had been truly happy? When was the last time she had felt something beyond rage and an arduous desire to take revenge? She stopped dead in her tracks, the crisp, white T-shirt she was planning to wear limp in her hands. She hadn't been happy in so long that she actually forgot how it felt like.

Hope realized that she had everything anyone required to be happy. She had a house, she had plenty of money, and she had the power to do whatever she wished, whenever she wished it. She had a faithful friend that was willing to do anything for her and she was certain that if she tried hard enough she would effortlessly be able to find a nice bloke to have at her side. Yet, it wasn't enough. So betraying, so deceitful is the nature of man that no matter how much she had, she couldn't help but long for more. In her heart she could feel a deep desire burn. It made her tired and gave her a sense of purpose at the same time. It was the kind of thirst that no matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried, she could never aspire to quench.

She could, after all, just leave everything behind and move to some remote location. She could build a family and live what other human beings deigned as the perfect life. She could just tell Noah all her secrets and give up on this insane crusade what would end their friendship. But something inside her refused to let go. For so many years Hope had been set on taking revenge and on fulfilling the wish of her ancestors that she had no idea how to live otherwise. Nor did she wish to. No matter how twisted it was, the path she had constructed for herself was the only path she knew. Without it she would have no purpose. Leaving it would not quench the thirst that was crawling at her insides on a daily basis. As such, she realized that in order to fulfil her goals she was ready to give up the most precious thing she had. The only thing that still made her somewhat human: Noah. She would not, could not, tell the doctor all that she knew. She would not allow him to know everything even if it meant losing him forever. She would not allow him to interfere with the only thing that would potentially make her happy and give her a sense of closure. As she stood once again in front of the mirror, dressed in a dark pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, Hope realized that she wasn't in the least bit worried about her choice. After all, there was something oddly poetic about taking all your secrets into an early grave.

* * *

><p>As Constance Hardbroom climbed the old wooden stairs that lead to her quarters she felt like she was in a daze. For eight days, eight incredibly long days she had been preparing herself to die. At that time it had seemed like the most logical thing to do. She had been sick, weak, and all the odds had been against her. Yet, she was alive, breathing in the familiar smell of old paint and wood, walking on the creaky staircases of the Academy. Why? As much as she wanted to just enjoy the moment she couldn't help but wonder why she was alive. Why was she able to walk without feeling any weakness? Why wasn't she fallen on the floor somewhere expelling gallons of her own blood? These questions were circling through her mind and as much as she wanted to put them to rest she found that her pedantic mind would not.<p>

She opened the wooden door and took a step inside her bedroom. The air was stale and dust had been gathering on the polished wood of the furniture. It was obvious that no one had entered the room while she had been trapped in the potions lab. For a second she was tempted to remove the dust with a wave of her hand but something inside her stopped her. For how long would have the room remained in the desolate state it was now if she had died in the class room? Would have Amelia kept the room like that for all eternity like a sad, empty reminder of her potions mistress? Would it have been kept preserved until Amelia herself passed on? Would it be longer? Somehow knowing that her disappearance would leave behind an empty room, stuck in time, made Constance feel oddly touched and disturbed at the same time. For once, she realized, with the amazement that usually accompanies such realizations, that her death would have a tangible impact on the inhabitants of the castle.

She took a deep breath, still slightly shocked that she was able to do so, allowed the dusty air to invade her still tender lungs and gracefully seated herself at the small desk littered by close to twenty bottles of pills and potions. Her fingers traced the cap of each and every one of them a feeling of immense pleasure rising in her breast. Did her miraculous recovery mean that she would never have to depend on those vile, artificial life preservers? She resented them. Each and every small, dark yellow bottle. Each and very small vile of potions. She hated them with burning passion for those bottles were twenty undeniable, little proofs that she was weak and unable to control the workings of her own body. For a split second, Constance entertained the notion of vanishing them but once again restrained herself from waving her hand. What if after the adrenaline of the traumatic experience wore off she found herself in the same wretched state as before?

"How are you, Constance?" Amelia asked with an obvious trace of worry in her tone. She had followed the potion mistress into her room and now observed her closely. Strangely enough, Constance seemed better that she had been before the entire potions lab ordeal and that concerned Amelia. It wasn't that she wished her teacher to be sick, but this apparently amazing recovery did raise a lot of questions. What had happened in that potions lab? Apart from being tried and rather thin, all those directly involved in the ordeal seemed otherwise fine. The students, promptly fed by Miss Tapioca and cuddled by both Miss Drill and Miss Bat, seemed to bear no obvious physical scar. The same was true for both adults. Amelia considered immediately asking Constance but she instinctively knew that it wasn't the right time for it. Instead, she was resolute to ask the Grand Wizard about his interview with Miss Hawthorne and to request Doctor Elwood to check on the potion mistress' health. She somehow suspected that he would be more than happy to comply with her request.

"I am fine… Better than I have been in days, in fact" Constance answered truthfully, her eyes still fixated on the myriad of bottles on the desk. Why was one of them missing?

"We had an incident with Mr Mallard…he had an attack of some sort yesterday and Doctor Elwood told us to give him that…" Amelia replied to the unvoiced question, noticing that the potion mistress was focusing on the empty spot.

Constance nodded in understanding and Amelia knew that she needed to be left to her own devices. Without adding anything, the headmistress quietly closed the door to the room and made her way to check on the four students. The potion mistress stood straight and still, her mind trying to make sense of what was happening around her. Mr Mallard being sick? Or better said, the man that had trapped them having something potentially dangerous happening to him? It surely couldn't have been a coincidence. But if it wasn't, then what had happened to the man? Had Miss Hawthorne done something to harm him when she dispelled the field? And if she did, what did she do?

* * *

><p>Hope entered the staff room fully prepared for an onslaught of questions. Nodding to the two wizards she made her way to one of the old chairs next to the table and sat gracefully, her posture rigid and defensive, yet appearing quite calm and nonchalant. She had already made up her mind not to let herself be cornered by the Grand Wizard. Her earlier observations of the man recommended him as being not a particularly powerful opponent, but an intriguing one. She instinctively knew that the man was more dangerous than others gave him credit for and she was determined not to allow him to get the upper hand.<p>

"It's a bit chilly, isn't it?" Egbert said with a smile, dramatically rubbing his hands together as to emphasize a point "Do you mind lighting the fire, Miss Hawthorne"

"I am pretty certain that the Grand Wizard is more proficient at the fire spell than I am… " she said calmly, crossing her long legs in front of her. Hope could barely contain her smirk at the poorly veiled reference to her Elemental Nature. It was obvious that the wizard knew something about the extent of her power. How much he knew, she did not know. Yet she decided that she would not freely give him any information that he could use.

"And yet, I heard otherwise… I heard that you have a certain… partiality… towards fire" the grand wizard said in a slightly mocking voice. She wondered if the man was an idiot. Or if he had any sense of self-preservation whatsoever. If he indeed knew, or at least suspected, who she was and what she could do, how dared he talk to her in such a way?

"Not more than other witches…" Hope answered with an infuriating degree of innocence, her eyes widening slightly.

"That's not what I heard" Egbert stated more forcefully, sensing that the conversation was going absolutely nowhere. He was being played and he didn't like it one bit.

"What exactly did you hear, sir?" she asked with the same politeness that she had used beforehand, her question laced with insincere confusion.

"I heard that you have a unique command over fire" The Grand Wizard answered almost victoriously.

"Then I fear you have been misinformed" she replied simply, twisting the tip of her curly hair around her fingers.

"I think not… especially in light of recent events. How did you dispel the field, Miss Hawthorne?" He could no longer sit and he had taken to pacing the room, while the woman was looking at him with wide blue eyes. She was infuriating.

"In light of recent events? You are being very vague sir. " she said with fake confusion her eyes widening further as if she was scared of his nervous pacing

"I of course refer to what has happened in the potions lab " he almost screamed in frustration. It was strange, but something about the woman made him want to tear the hair off his head.

"Oh, for God's Sake, Egbert! This isn't one of your former glory days when kings asked you to interrogate their prisoners. " Algernon intervened forcefully looking at the small pale face of Miss Hawthorne. The poor girl had been through so much already, and now Egbert was almost shouting at her, clearly making her more nervous. She looked so small, frail and afraid that Algernon could not help but feel sorry for her. He also knew that he needed to caution Egbert to mind his temper, after all, as far as they knew, the girl was not guilty of anything. As she offered him a small smile in gratitude, he could feel a sense of warmth explode in his chest.

Egbert looked at both his friend and Miss Hawthorne and sighed in frustration. He wondered for a second who the bigger moron was: him for allowing her to get under his skin or Algie for actually believing her cheap acting?

* * *

><p>There was something anticlimactic about the way in which Noah saw Constance. While she had been trapped in the potions lab and he had desperately tried to find a way to get her out of there Noah had often imagined how their reunion would be. He had imagined that after such a powerful death and life experience something would dramatically change when he once again laid eyes on her. He had imagined that he would go to her, sweep her off her feet and give voice to the power of the feelings he was nursing for the potions mistress. He had imagined long-winded declarations of love, passionate burning kissed, fireworks and the earth changing its axis. He had not, however, imagined that once he was face to face with Constance Hardbroom he would be completely and utterly tongue-tied.<p>

She was beautiful. Thinner and perhaps more tired than she remembered her to be, but beautiful nonetheless. Her freshly-washed dark hair was plaited at her side and she was wearing dark-purple, silk pyjamas that made her pale skin give off an unearthly, pearly glow. The expression on her face was neutral, but the ever present look of sadness in her eyes seemed more pronounced now as if her soul had suddenly become older, wiser. There were a million and one things that the doctor wanted to say, yet none of them seemed appropriate. He could express regret at what she had been through. He could tell her of the impact of her absence had on his heart and conscience. He could simply tell her of the multitude of feelings he was harbouring for her. But, regardless of how much he tried, he was unable to find the appropriate words. Nothing that he could say could reflect the magnitude of the experience she had been through or soothe the traumatic effects of said experience. Nothing that he could say could reflect what he truly felt for her and the conflicted state of mind he had been for the past eight days. Nothing was good enough for her.

He had realized during the past few days that his feelings for her surpassed the depth of anything he had ever experienced. What he felt for the woman in front of him wasn't a school boy's crush or infantile teenage infatuation. Was it love? Yes and no. He of course thought her to be very attractive and could feel his heart beat madly in his chest whenever he looked at her. It didn't help that other, more private parts of him, reacted to her beautiful white skin, her tall, lean body and well-placed curves. He had more than once imagined the woman in situations that would probably make the prude potions mistress blush. But apart from the purely physical attraction, Noah truly felt a deep sense of affection towards her. It was the same attachment that one feels towards a kindred spirit, towards someone who understand you and whom you understand in return. That, together with his desolation at the thought of losing the woman in the course of the past few days, would have pointed towards him being in love. Yet, Noah knew that things were far from being so simple. All the feelings he had for her were enrooted in a deep sense of admiration that bordered on adulation. She was the only woman he had ever met in his life that showed such dignity in front of hardships, that had such a hard-line moral compass, that he found it hard not to respect Constance and her strong moral character. It was that deep respect he held for her that prevented him from acting on his more primal impulses and that, at times such as this, robbed him of words. He loved her. He loved what she represented. He loved what she stood up for. He wasn't so certain that he was truly in love with her.

"Miss Hardbroom… I am glad to see that you are… alive…" the words tumbled out of his mouth clumsily and he regretted them immediately after they had left his mouth.

"Thank you, doctor Elwood. I am certainly glad to be alive as well…" Constance answered slightly embarrassed by his clumsiness, a slight sense of derision prevalent in her tone.

"May I?" he asked

Noah opened the top two buttons of her silk pyjama blouse and his fingers came into contact with the smooth skin of her chest. Before he knew what possessed him, he allowed his fingers to gently trace the prominent outline of her sternum, her jugular vein, her jaw bone. Every caress, every touch sent little electric currents though his body and for a second Noah felt like a school boy touching a girl for the first time. His vivid green eyes hungrily watched the rhythmic rising and falling of her chest, her breathing slightly laboured in response to his touch. Although Constance had straightened slightly in discomfort, she did not oppose his ministrations and her elevated pulse told him that despite her better judgement, her body seemed to enjoy this slight newly-found intimacy. Dignity, composure and respect uncharacteristically out of the window, Noah lowered his head and pressed his dry lips to her collar bone. Her back arched slightly and he could, as he left a trail of kisses on her neck, now clearly hear the soft sound of her laboured breathing. She raised her hand and tangled her long, pale fingers into his dark curly hair, gently massaging his scalp. Noah turned his attention from her neck to her lips and he soon found himself pressing his lips to her. Their first kiss had been chaste, respectful and the mark of a beginning. Their second kiss was much rougher for he allowed it to be infused with all his pent up desire. For a blissful few moments he gave himself fully, freely to her and he could feel her doing the same.

When their lips were no longer touching, Constance opened her eyes and an overwhelming sense of shame overtook her. It had been so long, almost fifteen years, since she had allowed someone of the opposite sex to touch her in such an intimate manner and she wasn't quite certain how to respond. While, from a physical point of view, she was shamefully enjoying the doctor's attention, something inside her kept reminding the potions mistress that the last time she had allowed a man to be intimate with her, things had not ended well. Looking into his beautiful green eyes, ablaze with passion of every conceivable kind, she wished she could quiet the voice inside her that urged her not to give into her more primal wishes. For a moment, she wanted to be another woman, one that could just give into him, consequences be damned. But she could not. Her conscience kept reminding her that while she felt she had known him all her life, she realistically knew next to nothing about the man, that she was very likely to get hurt and that if she went through an experience as unpleasant as the last one had been she was more than likely to not survive it.

"I think we need to talk…" she whispered softly, placing a cold hand on his cheek.

"I think you might be right" he replied in a low voice and took her hand in his much bigger one.

"Before we engage in any kind of… arrangement, I feel it is only fair for us to know more about each other…" she did not know how to phrase her words more appropriately. His slightly uncomfortable look made her resent her lack of proficiency in matters of the heart.

For his part, Noah took a deep breath and shifted uncomfortably. It wasn't that he didn't want to tell her whatever she wished about his life, it was that most of his life wasn't his to tell. For ten years his life had been so entangled into Hope's existence that most of his secrets weren't his and betraying them would mean betraying his best friend. He could understand Constance's wish to know more about him and he certainly wanted to know more about her, but he didn't want to be disloyal to or endanger his friend in any way.

"What do you wish to know?" he asked calmly, hoping that his neutral tone hid the discomfort he was experience.

"I know that you came here because of Miss Hawthorne, what I wish… need to know, is why exactly you came to Cackle's…" Constance asked calmly, genuinely hoping that his answer would be one that would put her questions to rest, not only about the nature of his relationship with the younger woman but also about matters of security.

Of all the questions she could have asked, that one was probably the worst. For one, he realized that Hope had told her something about their mission in the academy and that she knew certain things, but he didn't know exactly what had trespassed between the two women. How much had Hope told her? Has she told her the truth? He suddenly resented his best friend for putting him into such a difficult position. He resented her obsession with secrecy and her perchance for deceiving people. For once, he was resolute to untangle himself from her web of lies and answer as frankly as possible without deliberately endangering her.

"My father died ten years ago and at his funeral my mother lost her mind. Ever since I've been trying to find a way to… fix… my mother. I became a recluse, my friends deserted me and the only one that stayed behind was Hope…" he started a bit shakily, choosing his words carefully "She became my best friend… the only stable thing in my life…the only one I could truly count on. Please, don't get me wrong, there is nothing beyond friendship between me and her. I don't love her, quite frankly most of the time I'm not sure I even like her… it's just that I'm indebted to her… for being there and for helping me through some of the most difficult periods of my life. So when she told me she needed help with coming to the academy I felt it was my duty to help. Hope… she isn't the easiest person to get along with, but once you get to know her and accept certain things about her, she truly can be a good, loyal friend…"

"She told me that there are two things she is trying to protect at Cackle's… what are they?" she asked slightly relieved that there was nothing beyond friendship between the two. Constance looked into his green eyes and found absolutely no trace of dishonesty. She also found that, in light of what had happened between herself and the younger woman in the potions lab, she could understand his feelings.

"Two things?" he offered a mirthless laugh" I only know of one…"

"What is the one thing you know of?" She asked calmly, her eyes fixed onto his. Noah once again took a deep breath a contrite look passing on his features for a second.

"You" he answered simply "You are one of the things she is trying to protect… there is some sort of connection between the two of you… "

Constance said nothing, allowing the magnitude of his words to sink it. Miss Hawthorne was here to protect her. Why? She did not know. But somehow that statement made sense. After all, during the entire potions lab affair the woman had done nothing but ensure that she was as comfortable as possible during. She had effectively taken care of her and that wasn't something that Constance was accustomed to. Ever since her father had died when she was but twenty years old she had learned not to rely on anyone. And yet, there was this young girl on whom she had learned to rely. For a second, she felt remorseful about all the distrusting thoughts that she bore towards her. Even if they were justified at the time, she couldn't help but feel guilty about them. Then, in the same breath her eyes opened wide in realization.

"Doctor Elwood, I think you should go into the staff room. Miss Hawthorne might need your assistance…" she asked quietly, realizing the woman who had been protecting her for God knows how long was currently undergoing a gruelling interview with the Grand Wizard.

* * *

><p>"Gentlemen, I am sorry to interrupt your discussion, but I believe that I need to check on Miss Hawthorne after the ordeal she has been in…" the animated discussion was stopped by the entrance of the tall figure of Doctor Elwood and the Grand Wizard could not help but disapprovingly shake his head at the development.<p>

"Of course, Doctor. Go ahead" Algernon replied quickly making Egbert swallow his disapproving words with a grimace on his face.

"Wait, Doctor Elwood…" Egbert called as an afterthought and the man turned to face him from the doorway " Did Mr Mallard have a pre-existing heart condition?"

"No… he did not" Noah took a moment to respond and decided that it was safe to answer the truth.

"Thank you, Doctor" Egbert said throwing a victorious smile towards his friend.

Noah nodded calmly, his features stern and stoic, emoting close to nothing. With a shake of his head he motioned Hope to follow him and the woman gladly did so. Thanking every divinity possible for sending Noah, Hope gracefully nodded towards the wizards and made her way out of the room, not looking back. Her mind was abuzz with questions and she found that the walk towards her room took far too long. Why did the Grand Wizard ask Noah about Evan's health? Did something happen to him? And if it did, what had happened to him? And more importantly, why? They walked together in complete and utter silence until they reached her room where Noah closed the door being him slightly more forcefully than strictly necessary.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you, Noah!" Hope offered what she hopped to be a genuine smile in order to dispel the tension between them. She genuinely believed that this was a better opening statement than 'Hi Noah, is my arch enemy / ex-boyfriend / love of my life dead?'. Yet Noah's straight face told her that he did not appreciate her restraint.

Noah said nothing and took a long hard look at the girl who was his best friend, and, until recently, the only one he could trust implicitly. With a deep sigh, he sat on the edge of her bed and motioned her to take a seat as well. Slightly confused and worried by the increased awkwardness between the two Hope did so, gracefully sitting on her desk chair, her legs crossed, her arms tense. To Noah she looked like a panther ready to attack and he felt his courage falter for a second.

"I am tired of this, Hope…" he said calmly, once again sighing, his green eyes showing the weariness that had been building up in his soul for more than two weeks.

"Tired of what?" she asked slightly more defensive than she intended, grateful that the uncomfortable silence between them had finally been broken.

"This" he waved his hands around the room to emphasize his point "The mystery, the secrecy, everything. I am tired of you trying to do things behind my back. Of you trying to hide everything. It's confusing and I am beyond the point of being patient about it… For example, your enemy, who I found out, to my infinite surprise was in some sort of romantic liaison with you, had a heart attack… care to tell me why?" his voice was uncharacteristically bitter and derisory

"He had what?" she asked in genuine surprise, her brain failing to process what Noah was saying.

"A heart attack… I gather by the look of utter surprise on your face that you had nothing to do with it?" he asked equally confused as she was, but for different reasons. He did not doubt that she knew nothing about what had happened to Mr Mallard but that meant that something else was harming that man.

"Is he…" her voice trailed softly not really daring to finish her sentence. A strange form of concern rose in her heart and she cursed it. She was supposed to have killed all form of positive feeling toward that man years ago.

"He is in a surprisingly good condition considering that almost half of his heart muscle is dead " he answered calmly and Hope nodded. She seemed quite distressed and Noah wondered if he should still continue his line of questioning. Something about seeing her so confused, so strangely concerned was unsettling "Hope, what exactly is it hidden here at Cackles? What are you so desperately trying to protect?" he asked in a much softer voice and she tore her eyes from the floor to face him

"Something that has been missing for centuries… the Holy Grail…" she answered softly, her blue gaze looking into his green one with all seriousness.

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><p>AN: So, we have reached the end of another eventful chapter… I am currently trying really hard to not go into my usual self-depreciating diatribe and assume that after I've made you guys wait for so long no one will actually read this anymore (can't really help it though…)<p>

Yet, I guess that if you did get thus far you read this chapter (unless you just randomly like to scroll down…) So if you did, feel free to take some time to let me know what you liked/not liked about it/ or about the entire story by pressing the newly embellished review button (isn't the new ff makeover so cool?) I love hearing from you guys and I promise that I will reply ASAP.

_Next time: How the girls are coping with the aftermath of the incident, a serious discussion between two characters takes place and the mystery complicates even further _


	13. Chapter 13

AN:

Dear Readers,

Yes… I know it's been a very long time and you have no idea how grateful I am to you for returning to this story. Please, once again believe me that if I had the time to update sooner I would have done so. I will try (try being the key word) to not allow such a long time go between updates.

A special thanks to all my reviewers: **Chrissiemusa,HBrules,PrincessSammi ,chocomoon, AleksandraHardbroom, melissaIvory, dartsagel, ****DissectingPomegranates****, pesi**.

My dear sister, **NCD, ** I could no longer bear to see you in withdrawal

I know that this chapter is shorter that what I usually upload (it only has 8k, *gasp*) but I had to move parts of it in chapter 14. It I didn't do that, you would have looked at a chapter that easily had about 20k and although I am a firm believer in long chapters, that would have been slightly too long for my taste.

On the bright side, this means that chapter 14 will be updated really soon (I will try to update it before the end of next week)

Also, I know this chapter is mostly about my OC's but please bear with me. Next chapter you will see a lot of our beloved characters return but this chapter is necessary to explain some things regarding the characters I created. I hope you will enjoy it nonetheless.

_Warning: There are some scenes which, while not overly sexual, are somewhat intimate. Reader discretion is advised._

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><p><strong>FIRE AND ICE<strong>

**BOOK I: THE WIELDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR**

**Chapter 13: ****Life is to be lived, not controlled; and humanity is won by continuing to play in face of certain defeat (Ralph Ellison)**

_"Who are you?" Fear echoed in the child's voice, making the ruins vibrate with a brief instance of life. The woman stood unmoving, facing him, a gentle smile on her face, hand extended slightly as if to touch him. After what seemed like a moment of deep thought she placed her unnaturally cold hand on his cheek. He felt his pain dull, his eyes fall heavily, the beats of his heart slow down. Knowing instinctively that he was going to die, the boy appreciated the contractions of his heart for one last moment._

_"Hope." The woman ultimately answered his question softly, but the sound of her voice fell on unhearing ears for the child's soul was no longer bound to this earth._

_(Fire and Ice: the Wielder the Giver and the Heir, Chapter 1)_

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><p><em>There was a very good reason for which the Mistress of Fire rarely personally attended to the souls of humans. Apart from obvious constraints like her inability to be in two or more places at the same time, there was another one of a more subjective nature: interacting with humans that were irrevocably condemned to leave this earth. As they say, ignorance is bliss and previous masters and mistresses of Fire had chosen to stay ignorant to this less than pleasant aspect of their duties. What they did not know could not hurt them. What they did not see could not remain etched in their memories forever. Yet, Hope had long ago chosen to forgo this age old dictum and had made it her mission to personally attend as many deaths as possible. Why? Some might say that the young Mistress of Fire was a noble creature that wished to glorify and respect the ending of life by treating it in a more personal fashion. Others might say that she was sadistic and wished to see people suffer. They would all be wrong. <em>

_As it has been previously mentioned in the course of this story, the first person Hope had seen die had been her own father. Beforehand what her duty implied had been an extraneous thing for her. After all, why would a fifteen year old girl whose life had already been plagued by enough dissonance as it was be interested in observing the macabre machinations of death? Yet so, after her father drew his last breath in that shameful way seeped in fear, an interest in the matter was sparked within her. She wanted to know. She needed to know if the fear of death her father displayed was normal and rational. Thus, it was not a desire to glorify humanity or plain cruelty that made the young girl of fifteen wish to witness the process of dying, but it was unadorned curiosity laced with a selfish desire to redeem her parent in her eyes that stood behind her actions. _

_Sometimes, while absorbed in one of her often bouts of what-ifs, Hope wondered how different her life would have been had she not willingly chosen to physically perform her duties as a make-shift angel of death? How much of her character was shaped by one single life-altering decision? Maybe she would have been less sardonic, more empathetic, less inclined towards cruelty had she not seen the ugliness of human nature depicted in all its glory at such an early age. Or maybe all those undesirable qualities of her character were naturally deep-seated in her persona so that they would have remained unchanged regardless of her choice. No one knew. No one could know. And that is the great failing of decisions made in haste following impulse rather than reason: they leave room for what-ifs and, consequently, regrets. _

_It does little good to dwell on what-could-have- beens and the crux of the matter was that one day a fifteen year old girl, already jilted by the unfairness of fate, chose to witness the death of a human being and this involuntarily changed her. It would be far too easy to blame her for taking a course of action that might have ended up designing her entire persona. It would also be thoroughly unfair. After all, Hope's cognitive capacities did not extend to accurately predicting the future and like the rationality of all humans, hers was also bounded. That is to say that she took the decision to witness the deaths of those she was supposed to take within the limitations of the knowledge she had of the horrors of dying, which in truth was not much. No, it would not be fair to judge Hope on her initial venial transgression. What can be seen as odd is that after witnessing a death she went on to see more. One after another, every day as seasons changed and years passed, the Mistress of Fire stood at the bedside of unfortunate men, women and children, waiting patiently to fulfil her role. Why? To that question not even Hope herself could answer. She did not know why she needed to see the suffering of those miserable creatures; she only knew that she needed to see it. _

_Human beings often engage in various types of irrational behaviour. From wishing against all odds that something happened to believing in things that one cannot empirically test, humans are often plagued with limitations in their own rationality. One of these irrational behaviours is the phenomenon of addiction and the conjectures that surround it. Despite her out of the ordinary magical capacities and her ability to sense things that no other person on the face of the earth could, Hope was still very much human. Her impulses, her feelings, her thoughts were human. Her compulsion towards witnessing the cruelty of man-kind was a very human impulse that, if she had the wish or the patience to consult a psychologist, might have been classified as self-destructive at best. Compulsive and effusive in her emotions as she was, it was only natural that she would, despite her better judgment, form an unhealthy attachment towards the occurrence of dying. Or better said, towards the raw power it made her feel. _

_Hope took a long hard look at the unmoving face of the young child. There was little comfort in having to take someone so young, in having to cut short a life that had barely begun. There was little sense in establishing her superiority over someone as defenceless and underdeveloped as a child. Yet, once again she kneeled before the burned body of the child and studied it with some degree of morbid curiosity. She looked at the charred fingers, the small patches of burned skin, the pale cheeks dirtied with ash and the cold, unfeeling stare of the big brown eyes that were seeing no more. The thread of life was frail and could snap at any moment. The physical containers that enveloped the spiritual essence of a human being were so resilient and yet so very feeble. While they could withstand hardships beyond belief, at the same time, when confronted with something akin to the force of an explosion, they crumbled like sand castles. If there was something she had learned during her dealings with death was that life was a gift to be cherished and not be taken lightly. Without engaging in philosophical platitudes that were not in her character she reckoned that maybe, if nothing else, the death of that child was the universes' way to make her remember her duties and true purpose. _

_More often than not, humans have the tendency to truly believe that life starts and ends with the individual. In their arrogance they believe that the moment they pass away the sun stops shining, the Earth stops revolving around its axis and everyone else in the world would be devastated at their disappearance. It is an irrational belief, and yet it is a normal one. Although she should have known better, Hope also had trouble imagining the world after she died. In fact, if she were honest with herself, which rarely happened, she did not wish to die. The thought of death, of non-existence, scared her. What bitter-sweet irony. The mistress of death afraid of dying. She took another hard look at the boy and with a resolute expression on her fair features and a flick of her hand she allowed herself to disappear into nothingness. She knew what she had to do and she would do it that very day. _

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><p>Hope looked into the distance, her eyes fixed on the dawn's first rays of light. The beautiful colours that were splashed across the sky bathing the unsuspecting woods below held absolutely no fascination for the woman. She could not see them. Instead, her eyes could see the world only through the monochrome lens of her soul. She stole a furtive glance towards the beautiful golden ring that rested innocently on her index and for a second, maybe less than a second, she hated it. Or she hated herself for using it. She did not know… she could not tell. Choosing not to dwell on such sentimental nonsense, Hope quickly took her pack of cigarettes and with well-practiced motions that were beginning to become reflexes, she took a cigarette pressed it between her parted lips and lit it. She desperately needed the blessed nicotine to dull her senses. She needed something to take her away from the mess she had made of her own life. So lost was she in thought that the soft knock at the wooded door of her room almost escaped her.<p>

"Enter" she commanded her voice as neutral as ever, barely wondering who would be wishing to see her at such an unholy hour.

Constance Hardbroom had desperately wanted to say that Noah's revelations regarding Miss Hawthorne meant nothing to her. In fact, she was so frantic to negate their meaning that she had tried to banish them entirely from her mind. Yet, her mind, treacherous as it was, did not allow her to forget and, after a sleepless night she decided to take it upon herself to talk to the younger woman about what the good doctor had revealed. It felt peculiar for the potions teacher to face someone who had actively been protecting her for the past month. In fact, it felt so odd that while facing her apparent benefactor she almost turned on her heels and left the room. But something kept her rooted to the spot.

"I know… smoking is not allowed within the school…" Hope's clear, mocking voice broke the pregnant silence in the room and Constance took a moment to absorb her words. In the light of what she knew from the doctor it seemed such a peculiar way to start a conversation. It seemed somewhat ill-fitting to have such casual remarks exchanged between them.

"No… In fact I don't know… I cannot honestly say that I ever saw someone smoke within Cackle's before…" Constance didn't know why she had answered. Maybe because talking about irrelevant things was a better alternative than being silent.

In fact, her first instinct had been to barge into the woman's room to demand an explanation. But then, after the reality of the fact that the younger woman had been, as laughable at it might have sounded, her guardian angel sunk in, Constance decided to take a more diplomatic approach. Instead now she was making irrelevant small-talk and something did not allow her to voice her questions and concerns. Maybe it was the novelty of the situation.

After her mother's death her father had imposed very few rules and imparted few life lessons. Little Connie had pretty much been allowed to do whatever she pleased, whenever she pleased it as long as she did not cause herself or others conscious harm. Despite his laissez faire style of parenting, her father had managed to ingrain some very important lessons within his daughter's character. One of them was on the matter of debt and dependency. Mr Hardbroom had always been a dreamer, a man whose sense of practicality was overridden by having his head in the clouds. As far as she knew, her father had never been bothered to keep accounts of money spent, to limit himself within a budget, and, in short to deny himself anything. He wasn't a smart or shrewd businessman, he was an inventor. Like herself, he had had a talent for potions, a talent which he had inherited from his own father; the great potions master Aloysius Hardbroom, together with a small yet profitable potions laboratory. Truthfully, his less than practical character was not his own fault. He came from a wealthy family and had never been taught how to live otherwise. After Constance's brilliant grandfather died, the potion factory started to dawdle under her father's patronage. More often than not, his sense of practicality would be overridden by his creative, inventive nature and this would hardly materialize itself in financial benefices for the company. While her mother had lived, she had managed to keep her husband in line and had, somewhat, managed to ingrain a certain sense of responsibility towards his family into him. After her death, like most of the things her mother had achieved, that turned into ashes and dust.

Constance had many memories of her father. Some, like sharing ice-cream after a hot day or reading fairy-tales in the library, were good. Others, not very much so. Oddly enough there were two particular memories, the worst she had of her parent, that had not only managed to sour the relationship between daughter and father, but to also shape her character. The first one took place when she was about eleven years old on a seemingly unimportant day. She could vividly remember how un-extraordinary that summer day seemed. She had woken up like every day at eight o'clock sharp. She had eaten her porridge, she had played with her dog, she had worn her favourite dress. Apart from the fact that her father was nowhere to be found, nothing was unusual. Then it happened. In one single moment her entire world, together with her perception of her father changed. She could see him stumbling as if he were a blind man towards the house. Instinctively, little Connie ran towards him but stopped half way. The man that was walking towards the house was not her father. He was merely a stranger that carried her father's features. His clothes were torn, his face was bloodied, and his lips were swollen. Small treks of blood feel freely from his half-opened mouth and for a moment Constance pondered running away. Yet she stood still, rooted to the spot and did not flinch when the stranger approached her and placed a hand with bruised knuckles on her shoulder. He did not offer an explanation. Maybe he was too tired or in too much pain for that. Yet, the few words that he did say were burned within her memory forever: _"Never allow yourself to be in someone's debt"._

Thinking about it with the maturity of an adult, Constance had long before realized that her father had been speaking about monetary debt. In fact, after his death when she had been settling his affairs, she learned that the state he had been in that day was the result of him borrowing a large sum of money from some less than savoury people. But at eleven, Connie had interpreted his words differently. She had truly believed that he was urging her to be independent, that he was advising her to stand on her own two legs and never accept help. Her entire life she had operated on that misconception. And then, when she stood before the young person in whose debt she was, the dour potions mistress found it hard to find an appropriate way to react. Before she allowed herself to go down the memory lane and think about the second lesson her father had unconsciously imparted, Constance turned back to the matter at hand and looked at her companion. The second memory was not worth recalling. Not now, nor ever…

"Want one?" Hope turned to half-face her and she could see the slightly derisory smile appear at the corner of her lips once more. The woman's blue eyes were mockingly challenging her and despite herself the deputy felt moved to meet her challenge.

Constance eyed the pack of cigarettes speculatively. She had never dared to even approach… with unsteady hands she took a cigarette from the pack and raised it to her lips. It seemed such a foreign idea, such a grave trespassing of every rule that had been ingrained into her being that she pondered immediately ending her irrelevant rebellious streak. The younger woman watched her, an odd sparkle in her eyes, a thin eyebrow raised mockingly, a slightly cruel smile playing on her red lips. For some reason, that particular expression encouraged the deputy in her transgression. A surge of defiance rose in her chest, and with fairly determined movements she lit the white stick of tobacco and allowed it to the smoke to fill her mouth. She could feel it travel through her air-way, her lungs protesting to the foreign feeling, her throat going dry. Despite her efforts to maintain her composure, she started to cough violently and she immediately put out the cigarette. Once again, the deputy was proven that going against the rules was not for her.

"Are you quite alright?" the younger woman asked, her eyes once again fixed on the horizon. The expression she had shown earlier had fled for her face and was replaced by blankness. For a second, Constance wanted to know what she was hiding behind that mask. What was she thinking about?

"Why did you do it?" uncharacteristically, the words fled her lips before she could stop them. Everything about this woman was so confusing; everything about the entire scenario was so surreal that she felt unnerved. She was once again met with Miss Hawthorne's eyes, now widened slightly in confusion and Constance felt compelled to explain "Noah… Doctor Elwood told me that you came here to protect… well… to protect me…Why?" admitting it aloud was harder than thinking about it and the words seemed to get stuck in her throat.

"Two days ago I asked you for your trust and you offered it. I will hold you to your word and ask you to merely trust me without asking for a reason…" Hope answered calmly, with deliberation after a moment's thought, her eyes leaving the deputy's face and once again fixating themselves on the horizon "There are forces at play that you would not understand… but I promise that one day, maybe sooner than you imagine, you will comprehend my words. Until then please don't ask for a reason…"

Every fibre in Constance's body wanted to protest and demand more answers. Yet, somehow she instinctively knew that it would be futile. Trust was a powerful word that could not really be associated with the woman in front of her. The way in which Miss Hawthorne did things, that underhand, secretive way, did not demand trust. And yet she felt compelled to give it. Maybe it was because she was in the woman's debt, or maybe because thus far, Hope had stood between the school and tragedy. She couldn't pinpoint why, but she knew that, to some extent, as long as it did not mean hurting those she held dear, she would follow her blindly.

"Very well, Miss Hawthorne" she answered softly and turned on her heels to leave the room.

"You would do well to remember that I am not a hero…" Constance was stopped in her tracks by the low, monotone voice. Something in that voice made her shiver "Noah… he doesn't know…he doesn't understand… He has a gentle heart, Miss Hardbroom…" Hope said with a degree of finality, her blue eyes desperately seeking the beautiful colours of the sunrise.

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><p>If there was one thing that Evan Mallard hated, it was being ordered about. If there was one thing that Evan hated more than being ordered about was feeling weak and useless. Thus, after four days of having more than enough of both he had decided to discharge himself, against any medical advice, and go home. Of course, before being able to do just that he had had to suffer from a long and fairly tedious lecture that the sanctimonious Doctor Elwood saw fit to give. He seriously could not understand why the doctor cared about his fate. In his only interaction with the man he had been less than polite to him and went as far as to try to turn him against his best friend. Yet, the doctor had been more than concerned with his health, gave him about a dozen bottles of pills and reiterated the perils of discharging himself against medical advice over and over again. By the time he had managed to escape the Doctor's clutches, Evan had been thoroughly frustrated and had been feeling the beginning of a migraine. Not that he would tell Noah Elwood that, though.<p>

As he walked, albeit slower than usual and making almost imperceptible pauses to regain his breath every few steps or so, he could not help but feel satisfied at |finally being in his own house. At least there he had the power to control what was happening to him. Furthermore, he also wanted to research the cause behind his recent brush with death before it happened again, and he could not really do that from a hospital bed. His satisfaction, however, died down when he entered the hall-way of the manor. Something was not right. Not right at all. He felt a powerful, familiar magical energy invading his senses and for a moment he stopped dead in his tracks looking at the flickering light coming from his living room.

"Good afternoon, Mr Mallard, do dare to come in… " her voice resounded through the empty rooms and Evan felt his knees weaken slightly. Was she truly there or was she simply a figment of his imagination? Feeling a surge of courage wash over him, he slowly stepped into the living room and was compelled to take a deep breath.

She was there, truly there, sitting nonchalantly on the armchair in front of the fireplace, her long legs crossed in front of her, her thin hand gripping a glass of what looked like scotch. Or maybe it was bourbon. He remembered that she preferred bourbon to scotch. For a moment he forgot to breathe. Save their impromptu meeting in the village next to the blasted academy, he hadn't seen her for ten years and even then he hadn't allowed himself to look at her too closely. But at that moment, there she stood, as beautiful, as perfect as he remembered her to be and for a split second he forgot who she was and how dangerous she could be. He just looked at her, avidly trying to find traces of the girl he had so long ago fallen in love with. Hope had always had a flair for the dramatic and it was obvious that she had aimed to make an impression. She was dressed in a short, simple black dress that exposed most of her long legs, her pale arms and a fair amount of cleavage. It was with a certain sense of fascination that he noted that her skin was much paler than he remembered it to be. In fact, it seemed so pale that, but for the fire colouring her features, it would have been almost translucent. Her eyes were as deep and as blue as he could recall but they seemed much calmer, more sedate, as if the past ten years had extinguished their flame. Or maybe, he wondered with a pang of guilt, it was the past ten days and the experience he himself had inflicted upon her. Her lips, those full, red lips he could remember so well had remained the same but they seemed to be set in a thinner line, in a colder, crueller smile. Her entire face was thinner, more drawn, slightly more elongated yet still beautiful. Still so very beautiful.

"How did you get in here?" he asked, his voice slightly strangled, trying to feign the same nonchalance that she was displaying. He walked towards the fire and sat in the armchair opposite her. She was still using the same perfume.

"Please, Evan. I thought that by now you were aware of how pathetic your warding skills were… Bypassing your wards was child's play" she answered calmly, taking a small sip of her drink, a derisory smile playing on her lips.

"And my servants?" He followed, watching her closely. Now that the novelty of the moment had somewhat worn off, and his cognitive capacities had recovered from the shock, he was well aware of how dangerous the situation was.

The woman that stood in front of him was no longer the fifteen year old child whose powers had yet to develop fully. She was as powerful as he was, if maybe not more so. Regardless of what she said, his warding skills were not pathetic and she should not have been able to break the wards around Mallard Manor. There was also an air of confidence around her that he did not recognize and made him somewhat uneasy and made him stay as focused as he could on her words and actions. Firstly, she had the strategic advantage and she seemed to know it. For one he had no idea how she had managed to escape the trap he had designed for her. Whatever she had done to free herself from her prison was either insanely powerful or insanely dangerous. Or maybe both. Secondly, he had no idea why she was in his house. He was fairly certain that she had nothing to do with his recent illness. Despite her underhand methods of luring her enemies, Hope preferred confrontation. Unlike him, she wanted to see the faces of the people she dealt a final blow to. Even if she had nothing to do with his health debacle, now that she was in front of him and could attack him at any point. Lastly, as loath he was to admit it, if she were to attack him, he would be in no position to sustain a powerful magical effort. His powers were still the same, his command of his two elements was still firmly in place, but he was well aware that his body was not ready to fight her. Even if he somehow managed to survive her magic, he was fairly certain his heart would give out under the strain of defending himself.

"They felt an inexplicable urge to go to bed early…" she answered in the same calm voice and took a long hard look at the man in front of her.

Hope had to admit that she had not been fully prepared to see him as he was at that moment. For her, Evan had always been the powerful one. When she had truly believed him to be the man with whom she would spend her entire life, he had seemed like a powerful protector. For the past ten years, he had been a powerful force whose existence disturbed her. For the past ten days, while locked in the trice-damned potions lab, he had been a powerful enemy who needed to be crushed. But at that very moment, as he stood in front of her, she suddenly realized that she was the powerful one. Of course, intellectually she had known, from the moment Noah had told her Evan was sick, that she would have the advantage. Yet, she had been unable to fully comprehend it. As she stood in front of him, the realization that she could kill him at that very moment hit her full force. Hope looked at the man intensely, wishing to find any sign of a hidden power, any sign of dangerous strength. His chest was broad and well-toned but his muscles seemed lax, sad reminiscences of a certain physical strength upon which he could not draw. His face was drawn, pale and his features seemed tired. His brown eyes, with dark bags under them, held weariness and sadness beyond belief. For a second, Hope fought the urge to scream. She had come to confront Evan Mallard, not his shadow. This man was not him. This man was not the man she had hated for so many years. This man could be destroyed in an instant and she only had to make him defend himself in order to kill him. She could not feel hate for this man. He was too… too frail to hate. Even worse, as she looked at him she could feel her contempt die and concern for his safety rise in its stead. She quickly crushed that sentiment. It would not do to feel concern for one's arch-enemy, would it?

"Why are you here, Hope?" after thoroughly analysing the situation Evan figured that his best chance was a straight-forward approach. He would prefer not waste his energy on her mental games, after all. He was also intrigued by a slight flicker of emotion that had appeared on her face for less than an instant and, as gently as possible, he tried to probe into her mind in order to discern her feelings.

"I wanted to congratulate you on your little trick and to inform you that it failed spectacularly" she answered coldly. For a second Hope had wanted to say something to the effect of: 'I came here to kill you and then found out that you are unworthy of killing' but then she felt his attempt to invade her mind and blocked it with facility. He was the Master of Water. His element naturally allowed him to discern and control feelings. Just how weak was he if she was able to block his attempts that easily? Her twisted sense of justice would not allow her to rob him of his dignity.

"You needn't have bothered… I am certain that I would have found out sooner or later. As you well know, I have my sources." he replied dismissingly, feeling her crude attempt to block him from her thoughts succeeding effortlessly.

"Yes, I know of your… liaison with Imogen Drill. A non-magical person and a gym teacher… how… quaint…" she replied mockingly, a strange light flickering in her eyes.

"Does it disturb you?" Evan asked in a low, serious voice, his eyes fixed on her pretty features. He hoped against hope that she would say yes. In fact, if she did say yes he would fall on his knees and once again, like ten years before, he would beg for her forgiveness and put himself at her mercy.

"Don't be ridiculous, the time when you having paramours would have disturbed me is long past…" she answered coldly, her eyes refusing to meet his, were staring at the dancing flames of the fire place.

"Indeed" he replied with equal coldness. Had she actually plunged a knife into his breast, it would have probably hurt less than hearing her say those words in such a detached, uncaring manner "Now that you have given me the good news of your survival, why are you still lingering?"

"Do you actually want me to leave?" she took another sip of her drink and this time looked at his tired features. Feeling the onslaught of pity, compassion, empathy and other utterly disgusting feelings invading her soul, she turned her eyes away.

Evan's first instinct was to reply with a resounding 'yes'. His mind screamed at the top of its non-existing lungs that he should say 'yes' and have her out of his house as soon as possible. But his heart, that stupid, weak, sickly, treacherous thing, reminded him that this was the first time in ten years he had properly laid eyes on the woman he loved so passionately. At that moment he hated her like he had never hated her before. Of course, there had always been a small part of him that had hated Hope. He had hated her powers, he had hated her purpose, so very different from his own, and he had hated her stubbornness and inability to forgive. But at that very moment, he hated her for posing that question. That question which once again reminded him of the powerful effect she had on him. He could not say 'yes' and risk never seeing her again. Against all logic, against all rationale, against all instincts, he could not send her away. He chose to stay quiet, the defeat of his conscience clearly displayed on his aristocratic features.

On her part, Hope could not fully understand why she did not just leave. Not wanting to kill the man while he was a wreck was one thing, but enjoying a drink while in his presence was on an altogether different level. Quite frankly, although she hardly dared to admit it, she enjoyed the momentary peace that the moment afforded her. She did not have to lie to Evan. She did not have to answer incessant questions about her powers, her plans or her future. She did not have to bear scrutinizing stares or accusing glares. Moreover, although this was something she truly did not dare to admit, that moment reminded her of a time she had lost. It brought back memories of innocence, happiness and love. It brought back the cottage they had shared and the dreams she had had. Lost in her thoughts, her eyes looking at the dancing of the flames, she did not notice him rise from his armchair and go towards the drink cabinet where he prepared two glasses of bourbon.

"I took the liberty of bringing you a refill" he said in a smooth tone, breaking her musings and offering one of the two glasses.

"Are you supposed to be drinking?" she answered in the same mocking voice she always seemed to address him with, while she took the glass form his extended hand, their fingers touching ever so slightly.

"Well, I don't have the slightest idea. But don't worry, love, I won't give you the satisfaction to keel over and die at your feet… " Evan replied in kind, and inclined his head in a mock salute before taking a sip of his drink.

"I gather your departure from the hospital was an impromptu one…" he answered with a small smirk

"Quite… but you already knew that or you wouldn't have been here… How did you know I would be leaving the hospital today? If your blasted friend had his way I would still be strapped to that ghastly bed" he inquired, his voice lighter and his countenance slightly more relaxed.

"How do you think I knew?" Hope raised a perfect dark eyebrow and he smiled slightly in return.

"Oh, so the meddling doctor is not only your friend but also your spy… I gather that you enquired after me often? " Evan countered with a certain playfulness, his hand twirling the liquid in the clear glass.

"You know what they say…keep your friends close and your enemies closer" she replied lightly falling into the easy pattern of their banter

"Indeed…" he answered much more quietly. For the second time that evening he had felt the searing pain inflicted by her words. He intellectually knew that their relationship at the present time could hardly be described as anything but animosity. But hearing her describe him as an enemy hurt more than he wanted to admit. In fact, had he not known it were useless to do so, he would have once again knelt in front of her and beg her not to consider him as her enemy. For a second he closed his eyes and took a deep breath to stifle that particular impulse.

"Are you quite alright?" she inquired calmly, noticing the fleeting look of pain that had passed over his features.

"Careful, Hope. I might start getting the wrong idea and believe that you care about me" he had intended it to sound detached and derisory, in the fashion of their banter, but instead it came out as bitter.

She didn't know why, she strongly suspected the alcohol was to blame, but she couldn't respond to that. Not in the way that he had said it. Had he said it lightly, as if it were a joke, she would have probably been able to find something to say in retaliation. But his bitter tone gave her pause. Of course, a lot of his actions during the evening had indicated that he still bore some sort of feeling towards her. A feeling that was different from hate and distaste. And the entire evening she had decided to disregard it. But she couldn't ignore that. She couldn't ignore that bitter, hurt tone he had used for it screeched in her ears like a thousand fingernails scratching a blackboard.

"Do you?" he asked quietly, his voice shaking slightly, his eyes searching for her gaze. He once again found himself praying that she would not say "no". In fact, if she did say "no" he was fairly certain he would not be able to bear a third knife plunged into his heart in the time-span of a single evening. If she did say "no" he would attack her only so she would have reason to kill him on the spot.

Hope met his eyes fully for the first time that evening and was yet again assaulted with an onslaught of feelings, only this time there weren't only her feelings but his as well. His eyes, those expressive hazel pools, held so much emotion that for a moment she wished to turn her stare away from his. But instead she held it and managed to understand the despair, the love and the momentary hope he felt. It scared her. This man she had educated herself to hate for such a long time held such powerful feelings for her. She was scared to examine her own emotions. What if she felt the same? What would her purpose be then?

"What do you want?" she asked softly, cowering under the intensity of his eyes

Encouraged by her question he approached and knelt in front of her. He could not formulate a cohesive thought. She had not completely denied him and that seemed to give him strength and confound him at the same time. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribcage but, quite frankly, he could not have cared less. He took her delicate hands into his and felt her flinch slightly under his touch, but she did not retract her hands. He looked in fascination at the long red nails, at the pale blue veins, and at the fair skin. Like a thirsty man finding an oasis in the dessert, he pressed his lips to her hands as if they were a sacred object. Those fair hands that could kill him with a mere touch seemed so inoffensive, so gentle. He allowed himself to close his eyes for a second and drink in her familiar perfume. For an instant he was transported back to a time when life was much easier, to a time when he had known pure happiness. Then something extraordinary happened. As if forgetting he was her proclaimed enemy, Hope placed one of those wonderful, hands upon his cheek and caressed it with infinite gentleness. He leaned into that touch much in the same way a dog leans into the touch of his master. He opened his eyes and looked into her blue ones trying to read what she was feeling and thinking. He could not. Those deep blue pools were unreadable to him but he did not care. Instead, emboldened by her apparent acceptance, he sought her lips.

Hope felt his lips crash onto hers and did nothing to stop it. The rational part of her brain told her, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Noah, that allowing Evan to kiss her would not lead to anything remotely good. She quickly quieted that annoying voice when she felt his kiss, gentle and caring at first but growing deeper and more passionate with every single second. She placed her arms round his neck and felt him trembling under her touch. This man she had vowed to kill, on whom she had sworn to take revenge was trembling like a mistreated cur under her hands. She felt a strange surge of power over him coupled with pity and with another feeling she dared not identify.

Once again emboldened by the absence of a rejection, Evan moved his lips from her own lips to her neck. His hands caressed her back and arms, hungry to every single inch of her body. His mouth travelled to her ears and he bit her softly eliciting a soft moan from her. He knew that she would react like that and the fact that she seemed to have not changed her preferences gave him confidence. She returned the favour by allowing her fingers to tangle themselves in his unruly blond hair and he became painfully aware of how well they knew each other. It seemed that Hope had the same revelation and for a moment stopped in order to search his eyes. Her blue ones were no longer a confused mass of feelings but instead held a question. He did not know what the question was but he knew that whatever she demanded, if it was in his power to give, would be hers.

Hope looked at his hungry stare, filled with desire and genuine care and decided to throw caution to the wind. What could happen anyway? It wasn't as if he would be able to kill her. Plus she had subconsciously waited for ten years for that very moment. She had been patient and she was determined to wait no longer. With steady movements, she unzipped her dress and allowed it to fall onto the floor. The following day everything would be back to normal but for that moment she wanted to pretend that her version of normality did not exist.

As he looked at her half-nude form Evan wanted to say so much but found that he could not. All the words that he knew were failing him. They were not enough. Instead he proceeded to painstakingly kiss every inch on her body, focusing on the spots he could remember she liked best. He knew that this would be his undoing. He knew instinctively that he was playing a very dangerous game and that he had all the chances to be the looser in this gamble. But, like with most things concerning Hope, he disregarded rationality and acted upon emotion alone. He could feel her soft lips upon his skin and believed there was no better feeling in the world. He could hear her quiet purr in response to his ministrations and he believed there was no sound that was more beautiful in the world. He could smell her amazing perfume and believed that there was no fragrance that was more alluring in the world. His heart, poor, wretched thing, was beating wildly and was protesting at the combined attack of emotion and physical activity. He could feel pain radiating through his chest with viciousness but, once again he didn't care. Why would he care if he died or not, if she was there with him? Through sheer obstinacy, he increased the speed of their tantalizing dance and she effortlessly complied seeming unaware of his discomfort. Their screams of pure joy pierced the quietness of the house and Evan fell back onto the floor as if hamstrung.

Hope took a moment to compose herself, not allowing her mind to process what had happened just yet. She would have time to berate herself for her weakness later on, but at that moment she refused to indulge in self-pity. She turned to face her lover and could see him trying to control his breathing. His face was seemingly unbothered save for his brow that was slightly furrowed. He also seemed paler than a moment before and when he raised his hand and placed it on his chest she knew that something was wrong. For a second she had to suppress the mad giggle that was building up in her throat. Knowing that she could kill the man through sex would have spared her a lot of headaches. A certain triumphal viciousness seemed to be bubbling in her chest for an instant but it almost immediately gave way to a more powerful, and thoroughly uncalled for, feeling of panic.

"Evan, are you feeling alright?" she asked as neutrally as possible, trying to keep her annoyingly conflicting feelings out of her voice.

"Yes… I just… need… a moment…" he replied, trying to sound as normal as possible, but his voice was strangled and his breathing laboured.

Hope looked at him thoroughly unconvinced and pondered what to do next. She could leave him on the floor to possibly die. That would certainly solve a lot of her problems, but it would also leave her thoroughly unsatisfied. If she were to confront Evan, and she had to analyse the veracity of that particular statement later on, she wanted to do it when they were both evenly matched. That left her with only one alternative which she knew she would end up regretting, in one form or another. She would have to help him.

"Evan, I am going to call Noah, ok? He will tell me what to do…" she said as gently as possible, placing a hand on the one that he had put on his chest.

"Don't… there's no need… I will be fine…" he said in a less strained voice than before and opened his hazel eyes to look at her.

Evan looked at her, his eyes showing more than the physical pain he was feeling. He knew Hope and he was acutely aware that if he allowed the outside world to intervene at that particular moment, she would dismiss the entire night as an accident and would allow things between to return to the previous state of, albeit fairly one-sided, animosity. He could not permit that. He could not permit that night to become yet another dream of her that would torment him in his moments of loneliness. He weakly grabbed her hand and offered a reassuring smile. From a physical point of view he would be fine. At least he hoped he would. But if he allowed her to vanish again, he knew that his soul would break into a million pieces.

"But I don't know what to do, or how to help you" she replied thoroughly frustrated at his stubbornness.

"I have… some pills in my pocket… you could start… by giving me those" breathing felt easier but the pain was still persisting and he felt a surge of annoyance. He could see her scrambling on the floor and looking for his jeans. In a matter of second she had returned with the bottles of pills that the meddling doctor had shoved into his hands before leaving the hospital. For a moment he wished he had paid more attention at what Doctor Elwood had told him before he left. He was certain that one of the bottles was for pain but he couldn't quite remember which. Giving a mental shrug, he randomly took a pill from one of the bottles and hoped it was the right one. If nothing, the action seemed to somewhat calm Hope and he allowed himself to tiredly close his eyes for a second.

"Evan… you should really go upstairs to bed… you can't stay here the entire night…" she said softly, her hand- treacherous limb!- tangling itself in his hair.

"Nonsense… I'm fine…" he replied, not really wanting to tell her that he was as likely to make it to his bed on his own as he was to have a torrid love affair with cackle's ghastly chanting teacher.

"Don't be an idiot! I'm going to help you get to your bed…"she rolled her eyes at his answer knowing exactly why he had claimed to be fine on the floor "I'm going to use my flames, alright? So don't panic… we wouldn't want you to have a heart attack, would we?" she mocked lightly and, with a flick of her wrist she conjured a makeshift stretcher of fire.

"Yeah… we wouldn't want that…" Evan offered a feeble laugh as he felt the air around him heat up considerably.

Being flown on a bed of flames was one of the most peculiar experiences he had had in his entire life. For one, he had always supposed that being the Master of Water would make any form of Fire react negatively against him. Yet, the flames that were encircling him were perfectly harmless. Maybe his assumption was wrong. Or maybe Hope had managed to control her Element to such an extent that she forced it to negate all its noxious characteristics when she so chose. Secondly, as strange as it might sound, he could feel Hope in the flames that were carrying him. Not only could he feel her powerful magical signature, but he could feel something else… he couldn't explain it, but it was as if he could feel her essence in those flames. As he was gently lowered onto his own soft bed, covered with decadent Egyptian cotton sheets, he filed away both pieces of information for further analysis.

"Hope…" he whispered softly, quite frankly feeling too ill to raise his voice higher "Please don't leave… stay… at least… for tonight…"

He could see her ponder his request for a moment, her eyes looking at him as if searching for something. For a moment he felt like he couldn't breathe, truly believing that she would refuse him and leave. But then she agreed with an almost imperceptible nod. At his feeble motioning she joined him in the bed and he wrapped his arms around her, perhaps too scared that if he let go she would disappear. With her in his arms, he allowed himself to be lulled to sleep.

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><p><strong>AN: THANK YOU TO ALL THAT READ THIS CHAPTER!<strong>

So… I hope you enjoyed this chapter even if the only cannon character that makes an appearance is our darling deputy.

Please send me your comments through your PM's and reviews. I love hearing from you… I know we all say we don't write for reviews and that is certainly true, but that doesn't mean that we don't appreciate criticism of any kind *grin*. I will reply to them ASAP.

PS: Is Mr Mallard still universally hated? *grin*


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's note: **(this will probably be quite a long one but it is **important. Please read!**)

Dear reader,

I would be a terrible liar if I said that I was not disappointed in the response to the last chapter. If you are a writer yourself (as most people that take time to read this thing are) you might understand why. I don't know if it's the same for you, but for me, when I write I put my soul and heart into the story. This is especially true for Fire and Ice. You cannot imagine how much this particular work of fiction means to me. In fact, at some particularly low points in my rather mundane existence this has been the only thing that has allowed me to keep my sanity.

I am not saying this in order to be theatrical, although admittedly I have been told that sometimes I have a perchance for the dramatic. I just wanted to let you truly know how much it means to me that you continue reading it. I know I have hardly been faithful to my word of updating at a steady place. But this is not without reason… the past few months have been trying, to say the least. I will not go into the particulars, but real life has taken its toll on me and more often than not I have found myself unable at the end of the day to do more than just go to sleep. You cannot imagine how much it pains me that I do not have the time to write more. Trust me that if the day had 30 hours instead of 24 I would use the extra 6 to write. Alas, it does not. And please believe me when I say that this pains me more than you can imagine.

Fire and Ice has afforded me the opportunity to immerse myself into a world which is so distinctly different from my own that, had I the chance, I would switch them in a heartbeat. For the past few months the comfort of escaping reality has been suffocated by the necessity to face reality. For you, the fact that you have to wait for updates is a mere inconvenience. For me the fact that I don't have the time to write is maddening.

You might say, as most of you are writers in your own right, that I could take an hour each day to write, thus updating further. That might be true but Fire and Ice is, in my estimation, such a complicated story that it cannot be written on the spot. We have reached chapter 14, more than 100k words and it has barely scratched the surface of the plot. I cannot write for an hour each day for it would be disjointed. When I write I have to focus my attention only on what I am writing and nothing else. Maybe some of you out there are different, and if you are then I am happy for you and bow to your skill. Yet, I cannot produce something remotely worthwhile if I am not truly focused on it. That being said, I would never upload something that reflects less than my best. It would be a mockery of all the work that has gone into Fire and Ice up to now to do so. More importantly, it would be an insult to you to do so.

Going back to my disappointment to the response to the last chapter, I mentioned before that I do not write for reviews. More often than not, I write so I can escape the essentially tedious, repetitive and busy existence that I'm leading. This does not mean that I am not interested in what you have to say. The number of reviews that this story, or any other that I write for that matter, has means nothing to me. What you say, good or bad, does matter. The fact that you took a little bit of your time to express an opinion matters.

Why does it matter? Mostly because I abhor doing things in vain. I would not be writing this if I knew that no one would like reading it and would try to satisfy my need to immerse myself into a different reality by using different means. To me, Fire and Ice is a draining story. I do not see it as a chore but as a pleasurable pursuit that leaves you with an immense headache at the end. I enjoy writing it and I persist, despite certain misgivings, because of the promise that I made to you that the story would be completed. That is not to say that I could not try to satisfy my artistic needs by writing light, meaningless stories that require no planning ahead, hundreds of pages of research, horribly entangled plotlines and come with an added bonus of a headache at the end.

Please do not take this as a reproach. I am not mad at you. How could I be? The fact that you are reading this is a testament to your faithfulness to this story. I am mad at myself for two things: 1. Becoming so attached to Fire and Ice and 2. Not being able to live up to my promises to finish this sooner.

That being said the past month I have been pondering rather seriously if I should simply take it down. After all, how many of you are still reading this? For the last chapter only three people took the time to express their opinion (for which I am extremely grateful) and I cannot help but feel that most of you have become bored with this story.

Please do not take it as a threat or as a means to coerce you. I have no intention of doing either. I just feel that I am somehow wasting my time producing something that no one is interested in. After all, I am a practical person and if no one is interested in reading this anymore I should stop investing my limited time in order to cut back on losses.

That being said, as I did promise to finish the first volume of Fire and Ice, I did some restructuring within the story and made it as such that this chapter will be the second to last. The last chapter, Chapter 15, will be updated as soon as possible. It will not tie all loose end because that would be virtually impossible in two chapters. But it will give a moderate amount of closure. It is up to you if I write the second and third books as well.

As I said, I don't want to waste my time writing something no one wants to let me know if you want to know how the story progresses. Sometimes as far as Fire and Ice is concerned, I write for you as much as I write for myself.

Thank you for your understanding and taking the time to read this.

Yours faithfully,

Lemondrop

_**This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful NCD. I hope it gives at least a momentary respite from the problems of real life.**_

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><p><strong>FIRE AND ICE<strong>

**BOOK I: THE WIELDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR**

**Chapter 14: Unbeing dead isn't being alive (E. E. Cummings)**

_"Can you please do yer thing immediately after I've taken the last puff? I want to still be able to taste it…" he looked at her with the same youthful glint and the woman nodded, a chuckle escaping her lips._

_For a moment she seemed to disappear into nothingness but he could soon feel her cold hand pressed against his forehead. He took another drag, his lungs filling with smoke, and his mouth tasting the rich tobacco, one last time. With a satisfied smile he allowed his eyelids to close and his arms drop at his sides, outside the confines of the wheelchair. For the first time in sixty years he was no longer in pain. With careful moves, Hope took the cigarette bud from his cold fingers and put it in the ashtray. She watched it burn for a second before, like its owner, it was extinguished forever._

_She considered leaving the house almost immediately. After all she had nothing left to do here. Yet, something, maybe it was the man's bravery in the face of death, compelled her to stay longer. She sat on the armchair opposite the man and took another cigarette from the package. With a wave of her hand she lit up the burning stick of tobacco and could feel its rich taste ensnare her taste buds. _

_ (Fire and Ice the Wielder the Giver and the Heir: Chapter 2)_

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><p>Hope woke up, her breathing hitched, beads of fine sweat quickly forming on her pale forehead. The face of the old, fearless man was burned into her mind, the smell of the cigarette he had been smoking seemed to cling to her skin. She lifted her hand and automatically wiped the beads of sweat away, her eyes blinking rapidly, trying to get accustomed to the influx of light that entered the somewhat familiar surroundings. She herself needed a cigarette right about now. She took a moment to look at the sumptuously decorated room trying to process exactly where she was and, at the same time, trying to rid her mind of the image of the old man slumped in his chair that had been plaguing her dreams.<p>

She tried to lift herself up but something seemed to stop her. Strong arms were encircled around her waist and she automatically turned towards the possessor of those arms. Next to her Evan Mallard, the fearsome lord of Water and Air was sleeping soundly, his chest rising up and down with his somewhat uneven breaths, his eyes closed to the outside world and its miseries. Hope took a moment to look at his pallid face and could not suppress a wave of… something, from building up in her chest and threatening to explode. In sleep he seemed so peaceful, his features often set in a much too very sharp and cold mask were softer, gentler perhaps. His blonde hair, tousled from sleep and messier than usual, seemed to make him appear younger, more innocent. His arms almost squished her to his chest, promising in their unyielding hold to never let her go, much in the same way a toddler keeps a hold of his plush toy in his sleep. Had she been another person, Hope would have laughed at how childish he seemed to look.

But she was not another person and instead of laughing, Hope despaired. Now that her consciousness returned and the last of remains of her dream faded away, she could not help the feeling of panic that seemed to bubble in her chest and overtake her senses. What had happened between them the other night, as misguided as it might had been, served the purpose to drag her from the path of her life and place her unceremoniously at a cross-roads. For a second, she cursed the moment she had decided to visit Evan. The day before it had seemed like a good, if not somewhat impulsive, idea. She did, after all, want to assess the state in which her… nemesis found himself in. Was that not a good strategy during war? Wasn't knowledge of one's enemy, of his weaknesses and strengths, essential to win a battle? Yes, her rationalizations had offered her a good enough reason to go and face him for the first time in ten years. But she had not expected what had happened.

Hope had expected him to be cold, unyielding, hateful towards her. After all, only days before he had tried to actively destroy her. Yet, Evan, the villain whose soul she had believed to be tarnished beyond repair seemed willing to forget. He seemed willing to let bygones be bygones and allow himself to love her. That was disconcerting to say the least. Last night, Evan had given himself to her in more ways than one. He, for once, had actively put his heart on his sleeve and allowed her a glimpse of his emotions. Plan and simple, he loved her. But what about herself? Did she love him? Was she willing to change her path in life, the path that she had worked so very hard to establish, in order to chase an errant dream of potential happiness?

Sometimes, in the short spans of our lives, there a moments where the entire world seems to revolve around us. It seems, to our feeble, befuddled brains that in those particular moments, each and every individual on earth is looking towards us, waiting with baited breath, for us to take action. For Hope, as she tried to disentangle herself from the decadent Egyptian cotton sheets and Evan's limbs, this was such a moment. Her decision would quite literarily change the world and although she did not have an audience she did feel the pressure that was placed on her shoulders. Power is indeed a deceiving mistress, for with it comes the kind of responsibility that transcends one's selfish needs and desires.

Few people are born to specifically fulfill a role. She had been one of those few people. Evan, for that matter, was another. It was an unfortunate thing that their purposes were at odds with one another. For the moment she had been born her path in life had been set: live, stay alive in order to carry out your purpose, procreate and subsequently die. It was deceivingly simple. She owed the world nothing more. And yet, it seemed that the world, humanity, wanted more. It not only wanted her blood, her life, but it wanted her heart as well. Would she give it? Would she truly give her remote chance at leading a normal life for the potential welfare of the world? It seemed she would, and she was not without a selfish reason when she took that particular decision.

Take their future child for example. He would be born as master of the Four Elements. He would quite literarily be the tool through which the world continued to function. He would be the pinnacle of their secret aspirations and would bring a fitting end to the curse that had plagued both their families for centuries. He would also be born both motherless and fatherless. He would be born an orphan, all alone in the world. That in itself would be condemning an innocent soul to a rather bleak life. While she herself had been motherless, she had always had her father. Whether he had managed to do his job as a parent properly, that was another story altogether. But at least he had been there. That child would not have such a luxury. Could she entrust the safety of life to such a being? Probably not. But, that wasn't all. She didn't want her child to be the heir of the Four Elements. She didn't want him to own them. Why? Simply because she wanted to do it herself. Yes, it was terribly selfish, but Hope had never claimed to be a particularly selfless person. On the contrary.

Ten years beforehand she had chosen a path. It wasn't the noblest path she could have chosen. Maybe it wasn't the best decision she could have made. But the goal she had set ten years before was _her_ goal. She had given everything to fulfil it. She had sacrificed everything she possessed for the realisation of that goal. She had put her life, Noah's happiness, his life, Constance Hardbroom's life and so much more on the line. Why would her happiness be any different? Had she been a less stubborn person maybe she would have chosen to remain with Evan and willingly, once again, give her heart to him, forgoing all that she had worked so hard to achieve. But she was not.

With deft movements, Hope extracted herself from the iron embrace and proceeded, as quietly as she could, to dress herself. She dearly hoped that Evan would not wake. If the world had any kindness left for her, it would not allow her to see his eyes. It seemed it did not. The world seemed to decidedly be against her.

Deprived of her warmth, the man had indeed woken up, his hair a spiky mess which she had to fight the urge to smooth. Evan looked at her, his eyes filled with something she could not really place. Maybe it was disappointment or maybe it was simply resignation.

"Is this your choice?" he asked calmly, his voice barely above that of a whisper.

Hope didn't reply. She didn't need to. Instead she took a long look at the man whose existence was so inexplicably tied with her own. She could see the life she was leaving behind flash in front of her. Tears stung in her eyes. She turned and left before they materialized on her pale cheeks.

Looking at the door Hope had just closed Evan took a deep breath and closed his eyes in defeat.

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><p>Constance didn't know exactly for sure when that particular moment had turned into… whatever this was. One moment Doctor Elwood had been checking her blood pressure and commenting on how much better she was. The next, he was going down to get tea and they were drinking the said tea, she sitting on her bed, he sitting on the one and only chair in the room, opposite her. It was an unusual situation to say the least. Their previous encounters had been of only two kinds: either strictly professional, he as a doctor and she as his patient, or exceedingly romantic, for lack of a better word, both of them giving way to their more primal need for physical contact. Merely having tea with the man seemed unusually mundane and yet not altogether unpleasant. Of course the entire experience would have certainly been better if not for the awkward silence between the two.<p>

Miss Hardbroom, Cackle's most feared witch (not that it was a title hard to achieve, considering the competition) was rarely at a loss for words. Regardless of the situation she had something to say, even if it was merely a sharp remark or reprimand. That skill had been honed over the years by having to deal with emotional teenage girls, irrational older staff members and stubborn younger teachers. To a certain extent, Constance was proud of this particular ability she had. It allowed her to have the last word and, as such, it afforded her a certain sense of superiority. Yet, in the situation she currently found herself in, her skill seemed to utterly fail her.

On his part, Doctor Elwood did not seem to be faring much better when faced with the task of finding a suitable conversation topic.

"For how long have you been teaching at Cackle's? I have read…" Noah stopped abruptly and wondered for a second if it was worth pursuing that particular line of questioning.

There had been many things that he had wanted to ask Constance, but one thing was foremost on his mind. As her doctor he obviously had access to her medical file and in that file he had found something which had captured his attention. Quite frankly, he had wanted for a long time to ask about that particular thing, but had never really found the proper moment to do so. The uncertainty of their relationship did not help in that regard either. After all, what were they? Were they lovers? Were they friends? Were they simply patient and doctor? What right did he have to ask about the one thing which irrefutably proved that Constance Hardbroom, straight-laced deputy of Cackle's academy, had indeed been in an intimate relationship at some point? That is if he did not take into account the possibility or rape, but he certainly did not wish to go down that path…

"Doctor Elwood, I know you have seen my medical file…" Constance inherently knew what the doctor wished to talk about. She didn't really know how she knew, but she did. It was after all, a subject which, as her limited experience of romantic relationships told her, was bound to come up. Surprisingly she found that she did not mind such an intrusion in her privacy as long as it came from the doctor.

"Yes…" he answered softly, his eyes slightly downcast "I was wondering if you could tell me about that…"

Constance sighed and closed her eyes for a second.

"When I went to… no, maybe I should start earlier… My mother died when I was eight, and after that my father wasn't quite… right. I believe that my mother had been the only thing that had kept him together all those years and without her he started to slowly, but surely loose grip of himself and of reality. My father was ever the idealist. He was the type of person that believed he could and would change the world. He was never satisfied with merely living… he wanted to do great things, wonderful thing…" she paused for a bit, her eyes fixed on her hands a slight smile appearing at the corner of her lips in reminiscence for her lost parent

"Living with him had become trying to say the least. My mother had known how to temper his ambition for greatness and ground him into day to day reality. For her and because of her, he learned how to be a husband and father and I do believe that he enjoyed that… But after she was gone, he had no one to temper him anymore… It was as if that part of him was buried the same day my mother was. Oh, he loved me… I know he did! He just didn't know what to do with me…"

She once again paused and cleared her throat, her eyes becoming suddenly glassy. Noah moved his chair closer to her and extended his hands towards her. He knew how much the death of a parent stung, he knew how it left an imprint on one's soul, especially when the other parent was unable to function after the death of their partner. After a moment's hesitation she placed her smaller hands into his palms and he gently, reassuringly took them.

"Even as a child I knew that my father needed help… and I wanted to help him so much. So I started to do as little as I could to ease his burden. I stated to take care of the house as much as I could and even take care of him on occasion when he was unable to… I knew that he would not be able to live without me… The family business, the house and educating a child would have been too much for him, had I not taken part of those duties upon myself. I believe he knew that. He knew what I had been doing for him and he was well aware that although those activities were unsuitable for a child, they did allow him to continue to function… they allowed him to continue to focus on his business and to follow his pursuits of trying to foolishly invent something that would change the world… "

She once again paused and raised her eyes from their entangled hands to the expectant green stare of the doctor. In certain respects, it seemed incredulous that she would tell such personal things to this man who she had barely got to know. But the eagerness and genuine concern in his eyes gave Constance the impulse to continue. Maybe she was naïve, but she could tell that he would not use anything of what she said to harm her.

"When I was eight, that arrangement suited me fine… I had lost my mother, after all, and was reluctant to lose another parent. But as I grew up I started to get weary… I was selfish… I wanted to stop living for him and start living for myself. When I reached the age of eleven and was supposed to start my formal training as a witch, my father refused to send me away. He hired the best tutors that he could, so my education would not be lacking… but he didn't send me to a school. I didn't oppose his decision. I could not… I was too afraid that without me he would break… So years went by and I had virtually taken the role of the mistress of the house. It didn't bother me that much… cooking, cleaning and other such activities were not a much too great a task… What it did bother me was that my father and my tutors were the only people I got to interact with… I was earning to go outside, to meet others, to see how the world was out of the bound of our estate… I was tired of being alone. So when I reached the age of eighteen I enrolled in the Witch Training College behind my father's back and after being accepted I confronted him with the fact that I would be going… "

Constance cleared her throat once more and tried to suppress the overwhelming feeling of nostalgia that threatened to overtake her and convert into tears.

"I think the last bits of sanity left him then… Faced with the prospect that I would be leaving him he became slightly… unhinged. He killed himself two years after…" at this, Noah instinctively wrapped his hands around hers tighter and she offered a feeble smile in return. "… But I digress. I went to the WTC and in spite of some elements that made my life there less than enjoyable, I can say that the experience was not altogether unpleasant. I met someone who I then believed to be the man I would spend my life with…Cain came at a time when I was starting to lose faith in my decision of going to college… he was…" she stopped not exactly knowing how to describe the feelings that she had had for that man. She had loved Cain. She had loved him so much that after almost fifteen years she could feel her heart clench painfully at her memory of him.

"…different. I had been surrounded by men who were as old as, or older, than my father, so the moment I saw him it was perhaps only natural that I would fall in love with him…"

Constance closed her eyes for a second and she could see him as he was burned inside her memory: a tall man, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, with dark silky hair and deep blue eyes that would grow darker whenever he was aggravated and angry. He had been a handsome man. She could remember his movements always slow and deliberate as if he was trying to control the great power that was coursing through his veins. She could remember his large hands, so much bigger than her own, envelop her and caress every inch of her body. She opened her eyes and looked at the hands that were now entangled with her own. Noah had much more delicate hands, gentle hands… doctor's hands.

"We started pursuing a relationship and I believe those few months were perhaps the happiest in my life… Our…daughter" she swallowed for a moment, a flicker of pain flashing on her features at the mention of her child "Our daughter was conceived shortly after and although it was by no means a planned event, we did however welcome the addition. We were both young, but we felt like she would be the final tie that would forever bind us as a family. She was what we needed…a final piece that would complete the jigsaw and make a beautiful picture…"

For once she could no longer contain her tears and allowed them to fall freely on her cheeks. She felt raw and naked for doing so in front of the doctor, but Noah's eyes, so warm and filled with so much compassion never left hers. Instinctively, maybe before she did, he understood that she needed more, so in one swift move he abandoned the chair and sat next to her on the bed wrapping one of his long arms around her thin shoulders. Constance stiffened, but did not reject the contact. The warmth of his body, the smell of his manly perfume lulled her into a state of calmness and general comfort. It was something that she had never felt before so, empowered by the connection, she decided to continue her tale, her voice now slightly broken by tears.

"…My father took the news of a granddaughter less than well… he was, I believe, scared… I never did understand why he was so afraid, but he kept saying that the child would be my death. He kept saying that she would kill me… At first I believed that maybe he was talking about childbirth and how it posed some dangers to the mother but now I don't know… maybe he somehow knew what was going to happen... Maybe he somehow sensed it. Again, I digress… Cain was less than happy with my father's reaction. He was already embittered by what I had told him about the years after my mother's death and by what he had perceived as an injustice against me. It did not help that, in his turn, my father regarded Cain as an intruder and made sure that he felt as uncomfortable as possible whenever in his presence. So slowly, but surely he convinced me to avoid my father, under the pretence that the stress of each encounter would harm the child…I…well, my father killed himself two weeks before his granddaughter was born… "

She stopped for a moment, overcome with emotion and unconsciously leaned more into the doctor's touch. When had this happened? When had she started to feel so close to this man who was practically a stranger?

"… I didn't know. Cain did, but he never told me… the pregnancy was hard and towards the end I had been confined to bed rest… he was afraid that I would lose the baby if he told me my father had died…I resented him quite a bit for it when I ultimately found out, but I can understand why he did it..." her voice wavered for a second and she took a deep breath to try to regain a modicum of composure.

"I woke up one morning and I just knew that it would be the day when I would finally bring my child into this world… It initially went well but… as strange as it would seem, it felt like something wouldn't allow her to come into the world. At some point she stopped moving. The doctors told us that she was still alive so they suggested a C-section. Of course we agreed but it was all for naught. She never drew breath. "

The tears she had managed to momentarily contain were back in her hazel eyes as the events of that fateful day came back to her. She had tried for such a long time to bury what had happened in the most obscure corner of her mind, but she often found that she could not. No mother can forget the loss of a child. It is a wound that is burned deep into your very soul.

"We got to see her. We dressed her and held her. It was strange, it seemed like she was sleeping and would wake any moment… Cain was angry. Beyond angry… furious, really. After we buried our child, he told me he had something he needed to take care of… I never saw him since."

She finished her story and wiped the tears away with her pale hands. She suddenly felt very tired. She closed her eyes for a second and allowed herself to lean into the man's embrace. Noah simply held her. He didn't speak. He didn't offer his commiserations. He only offered his quiet support. For that she was grateful.

Noah looked at the woman in his arms and it suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks: The black clothes. The slightly aloof demeanour. The lingering sadness that prevailed from her beautiful hazel eyes… After so many years she was still in mourning.

* * *

><p>Spending years as a frog had made Algernon Rowan-Webb an extraordinary observer. After all, life as a frog afforded one little in the way of pleasurable pursuits. He had spent years, day after day, looking through his amphibian eyes at the small universe of plants, mud and water that had surrounded him. He had learned the shape of every petal, the vines of every grass-blade, the smell of the different kinds of swamp mud and water. Yes, his unusual experience had made Algie quite the observer.<p>

Still such a valuable skill tended to get overlooked when faced with the reality of human existence. More often than not humans see only what they wish to see and forgo truth in favour of making the image of the world fit their preconceived ideas. Sometimes, as skilled as an observer he was, he was guilty of the same fault. The events which had been plaguing Cackle's academy were proof of as much. He might not have been as great a wizard as his friend was, but he was not an idiot. He understood things. More importantly, he saw things. And what he saw and understood was that this particular situation was beyond the comprehension of normal witches and wizards. The powers that were at stake here went beyond one's most imaginative dream. What right did they have to interfere? Sometimes he missed his previously peaceful existence.

"Mr Rowan Webb…" a delighted voice chirruped from behind him and the wizard turned his head towards the voice only to be faced with a flurry of black taffeta robes and messy grey hair.

Algernon could not help but smile at the image the chanting teacher presented. He wondered if she had come to the same conclusion as he had. Her nonchalant attitude and her unwillingness to be more proactive about what seemed like a very dangerous situation seemed to point to that much. Maybe she understood that it was not their place to get tangled into such a dangerous game. Maybe she knew that, on an instinctual level, there were things at play which went beyond their limited powers. Or maybe it was just in her careless nature to never interfere.

"Miss Bat, what brings you here this fine morning?" he answered in a gentlemanly way that most youths would see as very old-fashioned.

"Oh, I decided to pick some flowers to brighten Constance's room. Would you care to join me?" she replied, bright smile never faltering.

Algie did not know much about the deputy of the academy but he had serious doubts about her room being in any way brightened by the wild flowers the chanting teacher seemed so fond of. He did not voice his opinions, and instead offered a nod and followed the woman on her erratic path through the meadow. She sang and chatted about nonsensical things in that chirrupy voice of hers and he could not help but join in at her odd moments of silence. Then she stopped and looked at something in the distance. Algie had to strain his eyes to see what the woman was looking at and after a few failed attempts he managed to see what had captured her attention.

On the path that lead to the castle, Miss Hawthorne was making her way, dressed in a simple black dress, high heels and a decidedly blank expression on her face. It was uncanny how different the woman was from when he had seen her in the school's staff room. In fact, he could have sworn they were two different people. Back then she had been confident, playful almost, now, in a moment she thought herself to be alone the girl seemed absolutely empty, devoid of any form of feeling. For some unknown reason, Algie felt suddenly afraid.

Miss Bat was still and for the first instance in their acquaintance, Algernon could see her as something more than the slightly irrational chanting teacher at Cackles'. She seemed older, wiser…

"They think I don't see…or maybe that I don't understand…" Davina said softly, a not quite genuine smile appearing at the corner of her lips. Algie decided immediately that he didn't like that particular expression on the chanting teacher. "She is dead inside, you know? I knew from the first moment I saw her…She was so pretty … standing there in Cosy's with this big potions book… Her clothes were so fine… her manner so nice. Yet she was all alone…Lonely in her own makeshift world…"

"Every day they look at her and see her smile…They think she is happy… " Her voice retained her trade-mark high pitch but a touch of sadness had crept into it. Algernon had the distinct impression that they were no longer talking about Miss Hawthorne "But she isn't because she has no one… And how can she have anyone when she is dead? Dead people can't have friends… Dead people can't talk… Dead people can't hear, or see, or feel… Dead people are just that…dead" she finished much quieter and held onto her basket, filled to the brim with wild flowers.

Algie once again looked at the chanting teacher absolutely stunned, not exactly expecting such a morbid monologue from this particular person. Quite frankly, he would have expected such words from the potions mistress. Hell, he would have expected them even from the headmistress. But not from this woman. Not this woman who munched on flowers, talked so loud and laughed so heartedly. Not from her. Never from her.

* * *

><p>As she stood, stone-faced in front of the makeshift volleyball court she had built up from scratch, Imogen Drill felt the cold hand of disappointment wrap its tendrils around her heart. It wasn't a feeling she wasn't accustomed to. In fact, Imogen knew better than most what terrible effects disappointment had and thought herself accustomed to it. Apparently not, for had she truly been accustomed to the feeling of disappointment she would not have stayed alone, in the cold autumn air obsessively checking her phone once in a while, afraid to miss a call coming from <em>him<em>.

Truth be told, she was terribly frustrated with herself for feeling the way she did. She had told herself on countless occasions that it wasn't healthy to allow herself to get attached in such a way to a man. Yet, despite her own advice, she could feel herself fall prey to Evan's charms. It wasn't really that she loved him. No, it wasn't really love. Not yet, at least. She felt attracted to him, to his physical attributes and his cultivated, gentlemanly behaviour. Furthermore, in light of the current events she could not help but care for him and feel a certain brand of protectiveness towards him. For heaven's sake, she had just spent a week at his bedside!

And that was exactly the crux of the matter. After a week of practically being at his bedside, praying to all divinities that would listen for him to get well, the moment her back had been metaphorically turned (physically she had been in the cafeteria grabbing something to eat), he left the hospital without a word. That is not to say that he had been ungrateful. On the contrary. While strapped to his bed, in the few moments he was not too tired to keep his eyes open, he had thanked her many times for being there and making sure he was as comfortable as he could be in the situation. She had not felt, in any way, underappreciated. She had, however, felt at moments her presence to be superfluous. Especially when he was asleep and, in his dreams, he muttered _her_ name.

Quite frankly, Imogen had not been as surprised as she should have been when he first asked for Hope in his fitful sleep. By that point she had already derived that the two had some sort of connection and the fact that his morphine-induced dreams only reinforced that did not bother her as much as she would have initially expected. What did bother her, to a certain extent, was how troubled he looked when he whispered her name. What happened between the two of them she did not know. She also felt that Evan would take it as a personal offence if she interfered. But that did not mean she could stop feeling… pity, empathy, a surge of protectiveness? She didn't know exactly what she had felt, but she knew that she didn't particularly like it. Maybe it was disappointment.

It wasn't exactly disappointment that the man she had been sleeping with for the better part of almost two months was calling for another woman. Of course, that stung her female pride a bit, but it wasn't disillusionment. What she was slightly annoyed about was that in her thirty years of life she had never managed to secure such devotion from the opposite sex. It might seem odd, but for someone who sometimes indulged in romantic thoughts, having someone whisper her name in moments of great distress would have meant a lot. Having Evan do that would have meant even more for Imogen, but she was disinclined to pursue that particular line of thought.

She had understood, during the second night in the hospital, that an outright contest with Hope for Evan's heart meant an outright loss. Not only because of the younger woman's clothes, wealth and status as a witch but also because she heard it in his voice and saw it in his expression. Somehow, the woman had entranced him. When and where and how, she did not know. Quite frankly, she wasn't sure that she wanted to know. No, Imogen didn't want an all-out battle with Hope. Instead, she did what every decent human being would do. She held his hand when he was in pain, called the nurse when he couldn't breathe properly, snuck him some decent food from the cafeteria, fluffed his pillows so that he would be comfortable, provided intelligent conversation when he was bored and, to the best of her abilities, didn't allow him to notice that herself and Doctor Elwood were his only visitors.

While she had not expected anything per see for her performance as his impromptu caretaker, Imogen could admit that she did feel strangely gratified by his thanks and the smiles he sometimes offered. That was until he left the hospital. Why he did so without telling her was a mystery. Was he tried of her company? Maybe, but he had never made any indication of that while in the hospital. Did he think that she would try to stop him? He would have been right, but she was certain that had he explained his reasoning she would have understood. Maybe he just felt the need for privacy. Maybe he had simply wanted to be alone. Whatever the reason, Imogen had been annoyed and resolved not to try to contact him until he called her first.

Until now, that is. At that very moment, while she stood on the empty volleyball field, she didn't feel angry. She felt disappointed at his disregard. But even that paled in comparison with the concern she felt. The truth of the matter was that a person she cared about was not well and he had disappeared for almost twenty four hours. A million scenarios went through Imogen's mind, each one having a direr outcome than the other. What if he was sick alone and without anyone to care for him? What if he had had another heart attack? What if a meteorite had fallen from the sky right on his house?

Figuring that sacrificing her pride for the preservation of her sanity was a worthwhile, she composed a simple SMS message: _"Please let me know you are alright!"_ She felt it was a good message. It wasn't too sentimental (she was glad she had refrained from adding "I am worried" to the text) and it was polite enough so not to be taken as an outright demand. After all, the uncertain status of their relationship didn't really allow her to make many demands of him. Then Imogen waited. And waited. And waited some more.

After five minutes, she made sure her phone was not on Silent. In fact, she chose the loudest setting for her ringtone and double checked that it actually worked.

After ten minutes she wondered what she would do if he didn't answer back. After all, he might be unable to call back and might thus be in need of medical help.

After fifteen minutes she decided that if he would not call back after an hour, she would go to Doctor Elwood and ask him to find Evan and make sure he was fine. But was an hour too long? If he couldn't call her back that might mean he was too sick and might need immediate medical attention.

After twenty minutes she almost went inside and asked Amelia for doctor Elwood's phone number. Then she stopped herself for the selfish reason of not wanting to face an onslaught of questions about her relationship with Evan.

After twenty five minutes she was prepared to answer any questions Amelia might have. She was even about to go inside the school when the small black phone rang and the screen displayed Evan's name. Suddenly, as she pressed the "Accept Call" button, all was much better and brighter in the world.

"Why did you leave the hospital without telling me?" Imogen had honestly not wanted to start the conversation with that particular opening line. She had not! But the worry and questions of the past twenty four hours and the indecisiveness of the past twenty five minutes suddenly bottled up and poured out in that one particular phrase, without her being able to do anything to stop them.

"Look, Imogen…" he sighed softly "I don't exactly feel my best right now, so could we please discuss that some other time?" He sounded tired and somewhat defeated.

"Are you alright? Did you take your medicine? Do you have any medicine?" she asked her questions rapid-fire her concern for his physical well-being overriding every reminiscence of anger she might have had. He sounded tired.

"Yes. No. And yes." He offered a wry laugh. "I just need to rest for a bit. Don't worry, I am fine…"he tried to placate her.

"You should take your medicine. But you should eat first. Unless… well, unless it specifically says that you should take something on an empty stomach… then you shouldn't eat" she finished clumsily and wondered for a second if he was annoyed by her nagging. Apparently not, because as she finished he offered another laugh, this one slightly more genuine than the first

"I will eat… I don't think I should take any of them on an empty stomach" He replied easily

"What do you mean you don't think? Didn't the doctor tell you how to take them?" she sounded outraged.

"I guess he did, but I was slightly distracted at the time" once again he tried to placate her, faint traces of amusement clear in the tone of his voice. They did nothing to assuage her concerns and everything to aggravate her.

"Do you want me to ask Doctor Elwood?" Honestly, how could anyone expect her not to be worried if he was unable to remember how to take his pills correctly?

"If it's not too much of a bother…"Evan might have been proud, but he was not suicidal. He knew that he had to take the blasted pills correctly for them to work and was quite disinclined to make a trip to the hospital and ask how he should take them.

"It's not and I will ask him…" Imogen was momentarily distracted by the Academy's gate opening wide and allowing the thin figure of Miss Hawthorne to enter the courtyard. She immediately noted that the woman wore the same clothes that she did the previous day. She also noticed that the girl seemed to be much more expressionless than usual, as if she was trying to hide a great deal of things behind a self-imposed blank mask. Hope noticed the gym mistress but didn't say anything. Instead she offered a perfunctory nod by way of greeting and walked inside the school.

"…Imogen?!" Evan's voice broke her transitory moment of distraction her eyes involuntary lingering on the door that had closed behind the other woman.

"Sorry… what were you saying?" she tried to turn her mind back to the conversation but found that she was still thinking about Miss Hawthorne. Her female intuition gave her a pretty good guess about why the woman was still wearing the same clothes and why Evan sounded particularly downcast. But that might have also been paranoia.

"I was thanking you" He replied simply, and Imogen once again felt gratified.

"Don't worry about it… And…" she took a deep breath as if she were bracing herself "Are you certain you are alright?" her voice was softer, much less demanding, much more caring.

"I will be" he took a moment before he answered and the tone of his voice was a lot quieter than before. His answer was also much more sincere than before and Imogen felt, at least at that moment, appeased.

* * *

><p>In spite of the flurry of emotion that had marked the beginning of her day, Miss Hawthorne felt decisive enough to follow through with what she had planned to do. Everyone who knew her, Noah especially, could attest to the fact that Hope was not a planner. She was not the type of person that had a schedule or that was able to plan ahead for months. More often than not she played things by the ear and usually did what she had to do in an erratic manner. What she was supposed to do at that point was not in any way different. Before undertaking her tremendous task, Hope had actually thought about what she had to do. She hadn't scheduled her actions per see but she had thought about them. As she stood in the hallway of the academy she revised the conversation she was supposed to have with the girl in her head and softly knocked at the door.<p>

"Enter…" Mille's voice came from inside the room, slightly surprised that someone would actually bother to knock before entering a room. Cackle's was known for many things, but respecting one's privacy was not one of them.

" Hello Mildred… I want to talk to you about something, but do you mind if we go to my room?" being granted permission, Hope entered the sparingly furnished room of the student and offered a benevolent smile.

"Sure… but why?"

"Oh, I just feel that this conversation might require several cigarettes and I would not want to get you in trouble by smoking in your room" Hope replied honestly and gestured for the young girl to follow her. The girl complied easily, years of living in the proximity of Miss Hardbroom teaching her not to question her teacher's orders too much.

Mildred had decided, long before the potions lab incident, that she genuinely liked Miss Hawthorne. Quite frankly, it was hard not to like the woman, especially when you compared her behaviour and easy going manner with that of her predecessor as a potions teacher. What the woman had revealed to her about her newly found powers of bringing drawings to life had initially stunned her, but had also allowed her to gain a greater degree of trust in her temporary teacher. It pleased her that someone, anyone, actually took stock of her talents and refrained from classifying them as either juvenile or completely useless. What had happened in the potions lab and the composure the young woman had displayed served only to increase tenfold the trust that the student had in her.

Once they arrived in Hope's room, the teacher motioned her student to take a seat on the chair while she opened the widow panels wide and took out a cigarette, lighting it effortlessly with a flick of her wrist. Mildred wondered if Miss Hawthorne would mind terribly if she told her about the hazards of smoking. While she decided that her teacher wouldn't really mind, she decided to withhold those particular pieces of advice for later. Maybe for when she was out of school, off age, and on a somewhat evener keel with Miss Hawthorne.

As far as she was concerned, Hope was intrigued by the student for a variety of reasons. One of the most prominent ones was the fact that Mildred was somehow still alive. Not that she minded that she was alive. On the contrary. She had grown quite attached to the four girls in the potions lab and would not wish any harm on them. But the fact of the matter was that she had seen Mildred's image in the lake. The lake never lied. The lake always showed the image of the people whose souls were no longer bound to the human realm and needed to be taken. Ergo, by all accounts Mildred's soul should have either demanded to be taken, through a visible degradation of the flesh and blood, or, if it could not be taken, simply destroyed itself leaving behind an empty carcass. Obviously, neither of the two had happened, and no matter how much she rejoiced at the fact, she was bothered by the inconsistency of it.

"Coffee, tea, Coke, apple juice? I would offer you some bourbon as well, but I fear Miss Hardbroom might have my skin if I do that" Hope decided to start the conversation by playing host. One could not just ask another human being: 'why aren't you dead?' without at least making them comfortable beforehand.

Quite frankly, Hope didn't really understand what the fuss about underage drinking was. She could remember that when she had been fifteen her own father had allowed her to indulge in the occasional glass of wine and cup of Champaign. He had also never said anything about her rare expeditions to the liquor cabinet to sample some Baileys or, if she felt particularly daring, some of his old bourbon. Then again, when she had been fifteen she had ran away from home for several months and lived with a man who would later on try to kill her. That being said, she was responsible enough, or better said she had enough self-preservation, not to offer Mildred anything remotely alcoholic.

"Coke please" Mildred replied easily, somewhat impressed at the wide variety of drinks her teacher had in her room. She didn't really know what bourbon was, but if it caused HB to be aggravated, she would be certain to steer clear of it. The teacher merely nodded, conjured a glass out of thin air and filled it with the brown liquid, offering it to the girl. Then she took a seat on the bed, crossing her legs in front of her, after she easily conjured an ashtray.

"Ok Millie…" Hope paused for a second as if to gather her thoughts "Firstly, how are you coping with everything? After…everything, really?"

"Oh, it's ok, I guess. I mean it was a bit strange at first to be able to do normal things and we had to eat porridge for a really long time before Doctor Elwood allowed us to eat normal food. Miss Cackle even invited us to eat cheesecake with her when we were allowed to eat normally again! But I guess it's fine. I mean, Ruby and Jadu are a bit angry that we asked Ethel and Drusilla to eat at our table, but I think they will understand in time and will stop being annoyed with us" Millie rambled for a bit, but her teacher didn't seem to mind. "I mean, we couldn't have really left Ethel alone after that. She has Drusilla of course, but I don't think Drusilla quite understands… I don't think anyone but us does, really. I mean, for them it being stuck in a room for seven days doesn't really mean much. It just… I guess they don't really know how it is to be hungry all the time or thirsty, or afraid that you will never get out of there"

Hope merely nodded at what the girl had said. She had expected all four children to have certain psychological scars, but healing those scars wasn't really her job. Even if she had wanted to heal them she wouldn't have known how. In fact, to her shame, the only time she had gone back to the potions lab after the incident (to check for any residue from both spells), she had unconsciously flinched before entering the room. Thank whatever divinity, that Miss Cackle had had the foresight to cancel all practical potions classes for an indefinite period of time, replacing them with theoretical classes which were, for obvious reasons, exclusively taught by Miss Hardbroom. The only thing that had been requested of her, in order to keep her half-hearted cover as a student potions teacher in front of the entire student body and staff sans Miss Hardbroom, was her physical presence in the class room while the straight-laced teacher taught the third years.

"Well, things will get better as more time passes… I guess, we all need some time to adjust." She offered kindly and wondered for a second if the other members of staff had talked to the girls about the ordeal. She certainly hoped they had. "Now Mildred, I want to you to think really hard about what I'm going to ask and answer as truthfully as you can. It's important. Why did you scream during our last day in the potions lab?"

"Oh… that… I just had a really strange dream" Mildred answered simply and Hope involuntarily raised her eyebrows. Whatever Mildred's dream was about it had to be connected to what she had seen in the lake. The two events almost coincided, after all.

"Would you mind telling me what it was about?" she offered what she hoped it was a reassuring smile.

"Well, it was really weird…I was in this strange house and Miss Hardbroom was there, only that she wasn't Miss Hardbroom… she looked like Miss Hardbroom but she was dressed in blue and was really happy. She also seemed to believe that I was her daughter." Mildred stopped for a second and felt her cheeks grow redder.

"Go on" the teacher prodded, easily lighting another cigarette.

"Well, then I went to the living room and I met a man… and when I looked at him I felt really bad… like I couldn't stop looking at him and I would never be happy again. That's why I screamed" she explained further and noticed that the her teacher had was sporting a strange look that she could not place.

"Was the man someone you have seen before?" Discarding the possibility that Mildred's dream had been just that, a dream, it meant that there was a possibility that it was real. As such, the man in her dream was someone real and apparently capable of manipulating emotions. She only knew one person who could manipulate emotion to such a degree.

"Not really… I never saw him before" she took a sip of her Coke and wondered if Miss Hawthorne had put some sort of spell on the glass to keep it cool.

"How did he look like?"

"Tall, with black hair and blue eyes… I really never saw him before" she tried her best to remember the man in her dream even if it wasn't a particularly pleasant memory. As she pictured the figure in her mind she realized a small thing she had overlooked. Maybe it wasn't important. Maybe it had just been her imagination, but she was certain that Miss Hawthorne would not laugh at her or think less of her if she revealed her doubts "Only that…"

"Only that what, Millie?" Hope asked, deliberately using the girl's nickname in an effort to make her feel slightly more comfortable. Now that she had assessed the person in the girls' dream was not Evan, she dearly wished to know who the man who could control emotions was.

"Well, a few weeks back I wanted to take a warm shower so I woke up really early before everyone else. Back then, it might sound weird, but I used to think a lot about Miss Hardbroom. I guess it was because I just found out she was sick, or something. I don't really know why. Anyway I went to take a shower and then when I was getting dressed I looked in the mirror and I saw myself but it wasn't really me. I mean it looked like me but some things were different. My hair was wavier and my eyes looked were shaped like Miss Hardbroom's but were the same colour as the one of the man I told you about" she explained calmly and had the distinct impression that underneath the calm façade, the young teacher was getting increasingly worried.

"Anything else weird about the reflection?" Hope followed, her mind racing with hundreds of possible explanations.

"… Ummm…. I think I was a bit older than fourteen and was wearing a necklace although I never wear jewellery" she answered and noticed that the hands of the potions teacher were shaking slightly.

"How did the necklace look like, Mildred?" Hope asked in a slightly nervous voice. This was bad. This was beyond bad.

"I can't remember but it was made of gold and had a round pendant on it"

Hope took a deep breath and fought the urge to scream at the top of her lungs in frustration. Of course, she could dismiss the entire thing as a coincidence. She could somehow rationalize that the necklace Mildred was wearing in her pseudo-reflection, was not the necklace that she was concerned about. But, unfortunately, Hope was not one to believe in coincidences. The thing was that the entire situation had gone from slightly irrational to utterly incomprehensible in a matter of minutes. Why did Millie see herself as wearing the pendant? Hope knew for a fact that the student wasn't its owner because the spell of the pendant had been in full effect for months and it had worked. In fact, at that very moment, it was still working. So, by all accounts, there was no reason for Millie to see herself as the rightful owner of the pendant. And how in the world was this connected to the fact that the girl was still alive? How was the fact that the pendant seemed to recognize her as its rightful owner related to the lake showing Mildred's image if her soul was still earthbound?

"You said you were older in the reflection, right?" Hope broke her train of thought to ask the girl for confirmation.

"Yes" Mildred replied calmly watching the woman fall back in thought, her brows furrowing slightly as if she was pondering a particularly difficult question.

If Mildred has seen herself as being older when she was wearing the pendant, Hope reckoned that the pendant did not recognize her as its current owner, but as its future one. It's heir so to speak. But why was Mildred the heir of the pendant? As far as she knew she had no connection to Constance Hardbroom whatsoever. Like the ring and her power, the pendant could only be inherited from mother to daughter. Short of Mildred being Miss Hardbroom's daughter, there was no conceivable explanation of why the pendant recognized her as an heir. Then again that still did not explain the lake, or the girl's affinity towards Air which could only be gained from her father.

"Millie, which one of your parents is magical?" Hope asked trying to sound as casual as possible. She was certain that the girl would say her father was the magical one. It would at least solve part of the mystery her student presented. If the girl's father was magical, then she would be certain that Mildred's father was in fact, an inheritor to the power of Air. Whether his powers were latent or not, that was altogether different line of thought, which she would have to follow in order to gain a powerful allay on the journey towards her goal.

"Neither"

It was certainly strange how such a simple word could complicate matters even further. That was impossible. A child who had such power could not come from non-magical parents. It simply was not possible. It went against all laws of magic. Was Mildred adopted? And if she was, was she aware of it? As to her parentage, if she had been adopted then the most logical conclusion that fulfilled all the conditions would be that she was somehow the child of the stoic deputy and the true inheritor of Air.

"Millie…are you certain your parents are indeed you biological parents?" Hope tried to phrase the question as delicately as possible. After all, all evidence pointed to the girl being adopted and she was loath to think that she might soon have to deal with an exceedingly emotional teenage girl.

"Yes, Miss. I am very certain. I look exactly like my mum when she was my age. Apart from my eyes… they are my dad's…" the girl laughed not really understanding her teacher's sudden interest in her parentage. "Do you want to see a picture? I have one of both of them when they were fifteen and met in high school."

While she did not fully believe Mildred's assertion (after all physical appearance could be changed), she decided to drop that line of questioning. She could not gain confirmation of its validity or not either way. And the matter of the lake still bothered her. It wasn't really that it was the most important piece of the puzzle that was Mildred Hubble. In fact, considering her long term goal, the fact that she was somehow the inheritor of the pendant was the most important piece. But she could not help but think about the lake. Quite frankly she took personal offence at the thought that the image in the lake might have been wrong. The lake was part of her realm, the place she knew best and whose rules she had upheld for years and years. She could not admit that something had gone wrong within it, because, if something indeed was wrong, then how many souls had wrongly been taken before their time and how many souls were left wondering before being taken? That was a frightful line of thought for it challenged the very core of existence.

And yet, the very proof that something was wrong stood before her, calmly waiting for answers her teacher was unable to give. Once again Hope felt compelled to systematically review all the information she had on the girl.

Mildred could control the attributes of Air, ergo Mildred's father was the inheritor of Air. Mildred's father was non-magical.

Mildred was the heir of the pendant, thus her mother had to be the current owner of the pendant, namely Constance Hardbroom. Mildred's mother was non- magical.

Mildred's soul demanded to be taken. Mildred's soul was still earth-bound.

It was as if the girl was made of paradoxes. Of dualities. It was as if she were two different people at the same time.

"Fuck!" Hope swore loudly, momentarily forgetting the presence of the student in her room, comprehension drawing on her and splashing her wide awake. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" she swore again for good measure and started to nervously pace around the room under the slightly stunned eyes of the human puzzle she had been contemplating for the better part of an hour.

The answer was so simple and yet so crazy that she could not believe it could be true. It certainly explained all the conjunctures she made about the girl and even the most thorough logician would infer that given the conditions, and assuming that the laws of magic were unbreakable, it was the only conclusion which made sense. Or at least it made a semblance of sense.

Mildred did not seem like two completely opposite people. Mildred was two opposite people. Or better said, she was two opposite souls, inhabiting one body. One was Mildred's very own (earth-bound) soul. The other was another (presumably) child's soul who, for some reason had not been taken. Why the soul of the child had not been taken she could not say. In fact, it was something which certainly required further analysis, especially considering that more likely than not, that particular soul was the spirit of a child pertaining to the deputy and the inheritor of Air. As to when the soul had started to attach itself to Mildred's body, she could not say. She could, however, say that she knew exactly when the two souls had started to coexist and, to a certain extent, merge: the day Mildred had the dream. The day she had fully acknowledged, albeit unconsciously, her dual life and saw with her own eyes a glimpse of the life her 'new' soul would have had.

Beforehand, Hope had been unable to see the soul in the lake because it did not have a host body. Once the soul was completely accepted within the host body, the image of the body appeared in the lake as the flesh and blood representation of the dead soul. But of course, although it was technically no longer earth-bound the fact that it shared a living, physical body with a soul which was very much in the world of the living, prevented it from being taken because taking one soul would mean taking both.

Now the only questions that remained was when and why the soul had attached itself to Mildred and not someone else?

"Tell me, Mille, did you ever hear strange voices?" she asked as calmly as possible satisfied that the look of disbelief and recognition on the student's face proved her right.

* * *

><p>The Grand Wizard's character, title notwithstanding, was one that was seeped in mediocrity. Mediocre intelligence, mediocre knowledge of magic, mediocre levels of power, mediocre upbringing, mediocre parents, mediocre schooling… and the list could go on ad infinitum. He was mediocre and unlike others who had the same status as him he had been unfortunate enough to have not been blessed with ignorance. Egbert Hellebore knew exactly how much he was worth and this knowledge ate away at him on a daily basis. He thus tried to overcompensate. Whatever he did, he did it as big, as exaggerated as it was humanly possible in hope that maybe, just maybe, no one would look at him and saw the average man that stood beneath the pompous surface.<p>

The wretched beginnings of the man who ended up being known as the land's greatest wizard were marked by the stigma of being an orphan. It wasn't a very unusual feat. After all, Egbert had had the misfortune of being born during the time of the Second Great War. The life of his father, a non-magical person and a pilot of moderate repute, had been cut short during a failed attempt to air-raid an obscure German town. His mother, a witch by birth who had denied her powers for most of her life, had succumbed to the trials of child bearing and had lived long enough to name her infant son. By all intents and purposes, Egbert Hellebore was bound to lead a life of hardship and misery.

With no extended family existent, the Grand Wizard would have been a fine epitome of a 20th Century Oliver Twist had it not been for the foresight and kindness of one of the nurses in the hospital he had been born. Even now, with his markedly increased status he was not able to find out what her name was. Yet, she had somewhat saved him. Knowing that orphans were appearing left and right and being reluctant to send that squished, stunted and otherwise unremarkable baby to one of the understaffed and overfilled orphanages in the area, she took him to a friary.

Egbert couldn't really understand why a cloister of monks had accepted an infant among them but they did. They took care of him, fed him and taught him how to read and write. They taught him the scriptures and made him follow the rites of the catholic faith to the letter. For fifteen years he had thought himself to be content with his life. He had imagined that once he was old enough he would simply join the monastery and continue in his worship of God. Back then, Egbert truly believed in his existence. It was impossible not to believe when all that he did, every single day, revolved around that particular figure.

Then it happened. One day, during breakfast, he had been especially annoyed at having to once again eat the bland porridge that the friar-cook served him. He had no idea why he had been so angry, after all, he had been warned on various occasions about the perils of gluttony. But, the reason behind his anger pales in comparison to its outcome. In one swift movement, with one hard glance, fifteen year old Egbert Hellebore made all the plates in the kitchen crack and the container of the vile porridge splash its hot contents on the unsuspecting cook. He was stunned and rather thrilled at what he could do. The monks were afraid.

Fear makes people do irrational things. That is a fact. That is also why Egbert could, to a certain extent, forgive the injurious actions that were taken against him after the porridge incident. One moment he was standing there in stunned admiration of his own talents, the second he was tied to a plank of wood with thick ropes and had a cloister of monks splash holy water on him and recite exorcism prayers. His fifteen year old mind could not comprehend what had been happening. He could not understand why the people who had been raising him were depriving him of basic liberties. He also could not understand how those people, who had shaped his character, could believe him to be the devil. The vilest creature of them all. Did they not love him? And if they did, how could they do that to him?

Shades of grey don't exist when we are fifteen. The world is either black or white. For the poor boy tied to a wooden plank day after day, having to live on holy water and to suffer the indignity of not being allowed to take care of his most basic human needs, the world was especially black. Back then he could not understand that it was their superstition and fear that motivated their actions. Back then he could not see that they genuinely believed they were doing something good. The only thing he could understand was they their love for god surpassed their love for him. His little world shattered.

* * *

><p>"<em>What do you want?" the fifteen year old asked the old monk with a voice cracked by incessant screaming. He had been tied for days and the rope seemed to almost blend viciously with his skin. He was tired and hungry and wet. He wanted nothing more than to be allowed to walk freely. <em>

_"To help you find your way towards God, my boy" the old man replied serenely, seemingly not at all affected by the pitiful condition his charge found himself in._

_It was at that moment that he snapped. He could feel the last threads of his sanity snap and a new surge of power course through his veins, intoxicate his senses and make the vile rope break with the force of his anger. _

"_God?! You dare to talk to me of God?!" he yelled, small drops of saliva unattractively falling from between his clenched teeth while he lifted himself free from his bindings. The old man fell to his knees in horror. "For years I served your God. I offered him praise and made sacrifices in His name! I filled this church several times with candles! And what is the end of it all? Where was He when you bound me to a plank of wood ? Was he blind? Was he deaf?" with swift, deft moves he grabbed the small golden chain around his neck and defiantly showed the cross pendant hanging from it. He forcefully broke the chain and threw it on the floor, his eyes never leaving those of his interlocutor the old man desperately muttering prayers under his breath "Here you go! I spit in the face of your God!" _

_The Christ from the cross watched from the floor, his dead golden eyes unable to see the tragedy unfolding before him._

* * *

><p>That day, Egbert Hellebore had become free in more ways than one. He was free from his ropes, free from his sheltered upbringing, free from his faith. Years later, he would wonder if that freedom was that brought about his downfall. But at fifteen he could not know that. Instead he left the place of childhood and his innocent tormentors never to return.<p>

Standing in the library of the Academy, Egbert wondered for a second what had brought about such reminiscence. Maybe it was the bland environment that reminded him of the small monastery. In his own school, he tried to make things as colourful and as modern as humanly possible to prevent such an association. Cackles' was painfully different. Or maybe it was the particular book that stood in front of him which had triggered that walk on the memory lane.

De Praestigiis Daemonum by demonologist Johann Weyer was a book that few people took seriously. In fact, few outside the more academically inclined circles of witches and wizards, knew that the book had some merit beyond satisfying some form of sadistic curiosity. Weyer had been a progressive mind and that was clearly shown in his book. While he complied with the orthodox view of demonology, he also went against the well-spread witch hunting practice of his time. In his book, Weyner had proposed the uncanny theory that the witches of his day were not acting as such because they were possessed by some evil spirit but because of psychological issues. As a non-magical person, he could not have known that witches and wizards did truly exist and that their powers had, mostly, nothing to do with demonic possession, but his claim, which had somewhat reduced the rate of witch hunting, had endeared him to the magical community. That, and his uncanny ability to be an excellent demonologist in spite of his lack of contact with the supernatural.

In the magical world, dealings with the demons were understood slightly differently than in the world of non-magical beings. While following the various religious doctrines of the world being in contact with a demon meant being possessed by it and as such being unable to control your actions, from a magical perspective, demonic possession meant actually possessing a demon. It meant summoning and being able to control a demon. Of course, the power required to do that was immense and few witches and wizards ventured into this dangerous land because it usually brought about only misfortune.

During his days at Cackle's, the Grand Wizard had heard various accounts of different suspicious activities. The most disturbing one had been, without saying, the incident with the blue field and the potions lab. Another one was the unexpected collapse of the school's benefactor. A third one, in his personal opinion one of the most relevant, was Miss Hawthorne's ability to seemingly control Fire. Yet, there was another event that few put stock in mostly because it had nothing but a positive impact on the school: the apparition of the Phoenix after the collapse of the deputy.

For Egbert, who was more versed than most in the science of magical creatures, this event was the most chilling one. Why? Simply because Phoenixes did not exist outside fables. They were purely fictional. Or so he had thought.

It was for that particular reason that the Grand Wizard had decided to forgo afternoon tea and spend his time in the library reading fragments of his personal copy of Weyner's book. He was particularly interested in the appending. The appendix of De Praestigiis Daemonum was a well-known treaty by the name of Pseudomonarchia Daemonum which basically explained the hierarchy of the demons. The main idea was that there were 7 451 926 devils which were divided into 1111 legions controlled by 72 infernal princes. It was in this particular part where, after hours of incessant reading, he found what he was looking for:

_67) Phoenix__is a great marquesse, appearing like the bird__Phoenix__, having a childs voice: but before he standeth still before the conjuror, he singeth manie sweet notes. Then the exorcist with his companions must beware he give no eare to the melodie, but must by and by bid him put on humane shape; then will he speake marvellouslie of all woonderfull sciences. He is an excellent poet, and obedient, he hopeth to returne to the seventh throne after a thousand two hundreth yeares, and governeth twentie legions._

After reading and re-reading the passage several times, Egbert could not help but feel the tendrils of raw fear once again wrap around his heart. If what he had read was true then the situation was worse than he could have imagined. Someone had managed to summon a demon and bind him to his or her will. Worse, it was not an ordinary demon, but one of the 72 infernal princes. This inherently meant that the person who was capable of such a feat was incredibly powerful and, most likely, had absolute disregard for his or her own safety. Summoning a demon was mentally and physically taxing. It could easily lead to his death or his insanity. Most importantly, it scared the person's soul beyond belief. It darkened it. It endangered its immortality.

Quite frankly he had a pretty good idea of who that person was. In fact, he would bet a great deal of things that the person who had summoned the phoenix and sent it to the academy was none other than Miss Hawthorne. Too many of these happenings revolved around her and her apparition to the academy. But if she had indeed sent one of the infernal princes to Cackle's that posed an even greater problem: why had she done it? Apparently, the demon saved the deputy from the clutches of death. That meant that she wanted to preserve the deputy's life and that she knew that the deputy was endangered. How did she know? Why did she want the woman alive?

No matter how hard he tried, Egbert could not find an answer to those questions. By all accounts, Miss Hawthorne and Constance Hardbroom had only met at the academy. There was no previous connection between them and no reason for the girl to know that the deputy's life was endangered. Or to care, for that matter. So how had she known? Of course, Egbert could take a leap of logic and say that she had known because she or someone she knew was the cause behind the woman's decline in health. That being said, and taking into account what had happened at the academy the previous weeks, he could infer that one of the three people, all of whom were inexplicably tied together, was behind what had been happening to the deputy.

The doctor was out of the question. Not because of his status as doctor, but because he had met the man and heard accounts of him and his handling of the deputy. If nothing else, he seemed to want to help her. That left Egbert with two possibilities: Hope Hawthorne and Evan Mallard. Algernon would definitely scold him for believing in world wife's tales, but he could not help but think that the legend he had so graciously exposed a few days ago was indeed true in the light of current events. The two were the representatives of the two feuding families. More importantly, the two were part of the most powerful bloodlines on earth. To put it simply, if magic were money, all witches and wizards would be nouveau riches. Hope and Evan would not. Magic was their birth right. What they did with that birth-right was a completely different matter altogether. If the legends stood true, then they essentially used it to obliterate one another. But how did that involve the deputy and her spectacular saving?

His hypothesis was simple: Either one of the two had wished harm upon the deputy. The other one, out of spite maybe, decided to thwart his or her plan. As to who was the first and who was the second Egbert could not tell. On the other hand, there was also the possibility that the same one who wished her ill changed his or her mind later on. Or maybe the deputy's deteriorating health was simply a ruse to cover something deeper? Something more sinister?

Sadly, as to the reason that stood behind these events, the book was quite frankly useless. The two people that could give him the answer would, for obvious reasons, not do so. In fact, ever since their talk, Miss Hawthorne had started to avoid him like plague. Trying once again to make some sense of the situation, he scanned the paragraph about the Phoenix. He had read it so many times it seemed to almost be burned into his mind. But at that very moment, his eyes locked upon a phrase he had previously disregarded.

The Grand Wizard suddenly felt a wave of fear hit him full force. His eyes widened and his hand shook violently. Wasting not a second more, he left to find the headmistress.

* * *

><p>Back in the shabby room of the inn, Noah could not help but go back to the conversation he had with the potion mistress. He somehow felt privileged to have been able to look into the depths of the woman's soul and discover her most private part of her life. It somehow made sense. It somehow explained why such a brilliant woman was chaining herself to a second rate academy. Cackle's was her home. It was the place where she had found security and shelter from the things which had marked her early life. It was the place where she could mourn her loss in peace and mould young minds in a way which the early loss of her daughter had not allowed her to. Cackle's was an anchor for her and change disturbed her because change had brought nothing but misfortune before.<p>

With that in mind, Noah allowed himself to close his eyes and drift into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

><p><em>Made of dark stone and lit only by a sparing amount of torches, the room was incredibly dark and crowded. There had to be at least sixty people in the room, the smell of poorly washed bodies making him feel slightly sick. Without thinking too much, Noah made his way towards the centre of the room where he could see a dark wooden table, covered with a large array of iron dishes filled with various meats and four candles affording the five people at the table a small amount of light to consume what he supposed to be their dinner. <em>

_Noah thought that the four men and the girl seated at the table made a strange gathering of people. The man seated in the centre, the oldest by far, was a sturdy individual of about fifty years of age, sporting a long beard and equally long brown tresses. His hands were dirty, his teeth were yellow, and his eyes were as dark as never-ending tunnels. Next to him, there stood a younger lad, tall and lanky with pale skin, unruly black hair, protruding lips and eyes of the strangest grey. He seemed somehow lost. On the man's left there was another young man who was completely different. He was short and sturdy, his hair was brown as were his eyes and he was sporting the beginning of a beard that promised to grow as unruly as that of the man in the centre. Next to him was the third young gentleman, his features well-defined, if somehow too sharp, his skin tanned, his hair falling in elegant golden curls and his eyes big and blue as the ocean. He truly was a remarkable example of male beauty. At the other end of the table there stood the only female in the party. She was young and slim, her skin was white and her hair was a vivid red. He would have found her beautiful if not for the distasteful expression on her pale face and the boredom rooted in her clear blue gaze. _

"_Lord Elwood, welcome!" the man in the centre addressed him, his booming voice overriding the quiet chattering which came from the crowd of people in the room. "Come, man, come!" the man beckoned and Noah was at a loss of how to reply. It seemed like he was supposed to know the man, but he had no idea who he was. "Adenah" he followed, turning to the girl "Go greet your betrothed properly!" he ordered._

_The girl, Adenah it seemed, lifted her bored gaze from the plate in front of her and directed it to him. She calmly lifted herself from her place, gracefully as to not ruin her long white dress, and came to him bowed and allowed her pink lips to open in a smile, her movements precise ,well-practiced, nothing superfluous in them. Nothing genuine, for that matter, either. _

"_Would not kiss me, uncle?" she asked, her blue eyes holding for just a second a sadistic glint._

_Noah stood rooted to the spot and did not know how to react. Like the man, the girl seemed to know him. In fact, they seemed to be related, for she had called him "uncle". Even more surprising, despite their familial connection, they seemed to be betrothed. He once again felt sick and it had nothing to do with the unappealing scent in the room._

"_Woe is me, father! My uncle and my betrothed scorn me! What shall I do, my king?" she declared in a mocking tone while turning towards the man at the centre in the room, her red hair flowing rather wildly with the movement. He had the distinct impression that she revelled in his discomfort. _

"_Oh uncle, is our sister not enough? Fear not, if you do not claim her pretty little lips, others will" the blond haired man spoke in a tone which at first appeared benevolent but was as sharp as knives and as cold as ice. _

"_That is enough, Alton" the king turned the young man and although the cold glint in his eyes did not disappear, the man stopped speaking. "Adam, take your uncle to his quarters. He must be tired from the road. Aether go down to the kitchen and make sure warm supper is prepared for our guest. As for the others, feel free to leave us" he ordered, turning to each of his sons in turn and lastly addressing the crowd. _

"_Come uncle. I will show you to your quarters" the sort, sturdy man addressed him a gruff voice and beckoned him to move. _

_Noah complied wordlessly, too confused to do anything but follow him out into an equally poorly-lit narrow corridor. They walked in silence for a few minutes, Noah trying to absorb all the information he had gained thus far. Then, while he was turning the scene that had taken place between the king and his supposedly three children, the young man next to him stopped in his tracks and turned to face him. _

"_You should run before she ensnares you" Adam said in a matter-of-fact way, his brown eyes piercing those of the man in front of him._

"_What do you mean?" Noah spoke for the first time since he had found himself in these strange surroundings and was surprised that he had not recognized his own voice._

"_No one says no to Adenah. Not even Alton, although he sometimes tries…"he answered bitterly "And if she decided to marry you, uncle, it must be for some reason. No one knows why…maybe the old man does, but I can tell you for certain it is not for your personal charm. She wants something… what exactly, no one knows. But it can't be good. It never is…"_

_Noah gave a blank look and the man offered a profuse sigh._

"_You really don't know, do you? Then I cannot help you…"Adam finished cryptically and opened the door of an equally dark and dreary room. "I do however suggest you check the drawer of your desk… If you do not wish to have the same fate as your late wife, that is" the man added as an afterthought before he closed the door behind him, leaving Noah alone. _

_More confused than ever, Noah walked towards the desk Adam had so kindly indicated. He opened the drawer and could see something akin to a dagger, with a gleaming blade and a simple dark leather-covered handle. It looked like an ordinary weapon but something compelled him to touch it. When he placed his hand on the handle he was struck by the power of the knife. It was as if the weapon was infused with a strange sort of magic which coursed through his veins, made his heart beat widely in his chest and breath come in uneven gasps. Knife in hand, Noah looked at the dreary dark room and for a second felt like he had a purpose. Like he knew what to do. Then everything went dark… _

* * *

><p>Drenched in sweat, Noah opened his eyes and fought to control his ragged breath. In his thirty six years of life many strange things had happened, most of them due to his association with Hope. Yet, the dream he had just woken up from had to qualify as one of the most odd occurrences in his life. It had seemed so very real, from the intoxicating smell to the amount of detail in which the people in his dream were shown, that, had he not been a rational person, he would have said he had somehow managed to travel to some sort of faraway land in the span of a few hours. He dismissed the idea with a soft chuckle and reached for the glass of water he had left on his nightstand. His hand touched something else and for a moment his heart stilled. On his nightstand there was a knife and next to the knife there was a note, written on a yellowed paper.<p>

"_This time, use it well…"_

Next to it, the silver blade of the dagger shone menacingly in the poor light of the room.

* * *

><p><strong>AN<strong>: I literary worked on this for about 24 hours straight (23 hours and 37 minutes to be exact). My brain has been officially turned to mush.

Random note: this is the only time in my fanfiction-writing career that I have actually enjoyed writing Imogen Drill :)

I hope you have enjoyed it. Please let me know what you thought through your PMs and Reviews and I will reply as soon as possible.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note**

Dear reader,

I know that I said this would be the last chapter, but after I wrote it, I ended up with about 25k words. Now, I like a good long chapter as much as any other person, but 25k seemed a tad too long for my taste. So, I decided to split what would have been the final chapter into two smaller ones. The good news is that save for some bits that need to be edited, the final chapter is written and should be updated during the following day.

As I promised, these last two chapters do tie some loose ends. They do give the story a certain measure of finality. However, it would be impossible to tie everything up. As such, if you would be interested in reading a **sequel **please let me know and I will oblige.

To those that have taken the time to review, I cannot express my gratitude enough. It means a lot to me that you consistently took time out of your busy lives and not only read my story but also commented on it. A huge thanks to: **Chrissiemusa, fantasy77, Morganalafay, DissectingPomengrates, Pixel and Stephanie Forever **and the annonymous reviewer who refers to himself/herself as **Guest. **This chapter is dedicated to you and to all those who have read and reviewed this story thus far! Another 'thank you' needs to go to **Beukie** who has sent me a most wonderfully encouraging PM.

Special thanks to **NextChristineDaae** who has been a huge support throughout the entire writing process. In fact, it is she that has inspired me to write this chapter and has reminded me why I love Fire and Ice so much. Words cannot express how grateful I am to have her in my life and how terribly honoured I feel to be able to call her my friend.

Yours sincerely,

The Author

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><p><strong>FIRE AND ICE<strong>

**BOOK I: THE WIELDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR**

**Chapter 15:** _** To exist! O, what nonsense, what foolish conceit;**_

_**Our eyes but deceive us, our ears but cheat,**_

_**What this age discovers, the next will deny,**_

_**For better just nothing than naught a lie.**_

(Mihai Eminescu-Mortua Est)

A little over a week. 7 days and 8 hours. 176 hours and 32 minutes. 10592 minutes. That was exactly for how long he had had the dagger in his possession and half of that time was spent trying to make sense of what exactly was happening. Not that he had made much progress, mind you. In fact, Noah was wondering if he had suddenly switched his world, the place where events had a logical cause, for a strange alternate universe where twenty seven year old healthy males had sudden heart attacks, people who had progressed into stage three heart failure suddenly got better and daggers appeared out of nowhere. It also didn't help that the only person who might have had a clue as to what was happening was avoiding him like plague.

What Hope had been doing for the past seven days (or, more exactly, 10592 minutes, because considering the irrational nature of the situation he had to be exact to maintain at least a semblance of control) he didn't know. What he did know was that she had spent the weekend at Hawthorne manor. Now, for normal people, wishing to spend a weekend in their childhood home was not that unusual. But this was Hope Noah was thinking about. She could fit a lot of descriptions, a lot of patterns, but "normal" was not one of them. She hated that place. As to why, Noah wasn't privy to such an information, but he did know that she hated it. For the ten years he had known her, she had gone there only twice: shortly after they have made their acquaintance, for some undisclosed reason and a few months previously because, he supposed, she wanted to retrieve the ring. Why she decided to do so now, he had no idea and those who lived less than ten meters from her were of little help.

Sitting in front of the proof of a thoroughly unexpected modern medical miracle did nothing to assuage his confusion. Constance Hardbroom was, for all intents and purposes the picture of absolute health. Colour had returned to her face, she had gained the slightest bit of weight and was no longer so skeletal, and she had an air of vitality about her that was absolutely refreshing. As her… suitor, for lack of a better word, Noah approved. As her doctor, however, he was completely and utterly baffled. Had he not personally triple-checked the tests he had ordered on her, he would have said it was a gross mistake. But he did check. And it did not make any sense. Nothing seemed to, these days.

"Something is worrying you." Constance stated plainly and he offered her a warm smile.

Ever since they had that conversation about her the unfortunate happenings of her previous relationship their very own tentative liaison had moved towards a state of intimacy that he welcomed whole-heartedly. It wasn't physical intimacy. In fact, on that front, nothing had gone further beyond the rare embrace and stolen kiss. Surprisingly enough for a man who had reached the age of thirty-six without forming any sort of emotional attachment, he was very pleased about that. In his eyes, she was beautiful and he dared anyone to challenge him on that. But what was more beautiful than her deep hazel eyes, graceful figure and long silky tresses, was her mind. She was a woman of extraordinary intellect. She was also a woman who, despite her reserved behaviour, held within her a passionate nature. She was a woman who was loyal to a fault, dedicated in the absolute and commanded respect with every single word she spoke and movement she made. The only bright part of the torment and chaos of the past seven days had been his daily meetings with her.

When he was with Constance, he didn't feel the need to count seconds. In fact, he forgot about time entirely. Her mere presence, with her aura of stability and outright righteousness, was a source of comfort for him. It was also a source of delight. As the invisible wall between them had come tumbling down during the past days, the deputy felt far more comfortable about sharing little titbits about her. She wasn't as forthcoming as he might have liked, but, for a woman who was reserved to the extreme to share the occasional childhood anecdote or to express a preference for activities which were not related to her position at the academy, made every single piece of information precious. He cherished those moments deeply for they showed him glimpses of the woman that was behind the long black dresses and perfect bun and felt honoured that he was privy to see her in such a light. ts and loved the feelings it not related to her position to the academy, every single piece of informatideepl

"I am not worried… I am confused however. Your health is in perfect condition and that is… not normal…" he answered a bit clumsily and was offered a thin smile in return.

"Do you wish me to be ill, Doctor Elwood?" she answered with a faint trace of sarcasm in her voice, delicately sipping some Earl Grey tea.

"Not at all!" he replied quickly and enveloped her free hand in one of his own "I would, however, feel better if I understood _why_ you are no longer sick" he explained and she gave a curt nod.

"That I can understand, but what has happened the past weeks has somehow dampened my curiosity on this particular subject" she gracefully placed her cup on her night stand and turned to fully face him.

"How so?" for a woman of her intellectual curiosity that was certainly a unique reaction.

"Noah, I am well aware how close to dying I was. I had accepted it. I was perfectly… perhaps not fine, I don't genuinely believe anyone is perfectly fine with dying… but I was resigned to it" she answered in a perfectly calm voice, the same tone one would use when discussing the weather. "That… closeness to death… puts things into a different perspective. What has seemed trivial becomes important. And, conversely, what was once important becomes rather trivial. You just look at the world differently and learn to appreciate some things more than others. And, honestly, I cannot bring myself to question why I am still among the living too much. I prefer to apply my energy to more fruitful pursuits"

"Like preparing the next potions test for the girls?" Noah retorted easily, his voice laced with humour, his eyes travelling towards the pile of papers on the small desk in her room.

"That as well… Their study of potions during Miss Hawthorne's tenure was not by any stretch of the imagination sufficient" her voice had a slightly outraged quality to it, as if she took personal offence at the idea of the girls not being properly instructed in the art of potions-making.

"Oh… Hope isn't exactly… a potions teacher…or ever studied potions for that matter" he replied rather sheepishly, wondering how, in their long conversations about their mutual acquaintance, he had failed to mention it.

"I know" she replied dryly "She had admitted as much herself. But I had my suspicions from the first day we met. Her hands and her complete and utter disregard for safety were rather instrumental in reaching that conclusion" she explained upon seeing Noah's questioning eyebrow and the man offered a dry laugh.

That reminded him of one other thing he wanted to discuss with Constance. A, perhaps unintended, by-product of Hope's absence during the past days had been the fact that she had made herself unavailable for any sort of discussion. His first impulse after the strange appearance of the dagger on his nightstand had been to talk to Hope. When she had been nowhere to be found, and he had felt his mind close to exploding within his skull, he had turned to the only other person he fully trusted and knew capable of rational thought. Although Constance had not been much help in helping him figure out what purpose served the dagger, or who the people in his dream were for that matter, she did offer various pertinent opinions. Talking to her about such things was very different than talking to Hope. Constance didn't feel the need to hide her knowledge, or gloat at his sometimes uninformed thoughts on various matters, or covert the simplest answer into riddles. She merely offered serious, simple, and above all, logical answers to his questions.

"Mr Mallard requested a meeting" Noah said seriously, and he could see her straighten up.

"Did he tell you what the purpose of such a meeting would be?" she questioned evenly.

"No. But I suspect he wishes to talk about Hope" he replied, feeling her tense by his side.

"And why would he want to do so with you?" Constance's voice was nonchalant and apparently unaffected, but her posture told him exactly what she felt about such a meeting.

"I did tell you that he has… certain feelings for her" Noah explained rather clumsily.

"You did. And trying to kill her is a very effective way to show his affection towards her" the answer was dry, brisk and infused with such a degree of sarcasm that the doctor could not help but smile slightly.

"You clearly disapprove of such a meeting" he stated simply.

"You told me that when you met him before he tried to manipulate your mind and turn you against Miss Hawthorne. Nothing is preventing him from doing so again. Regardless of what he feelings might be, his actions proved that he is dangerous and that he wants to hurt her…I believe you might be a convenient way for him to achieve that aim" Constance explained plainly and watched for his reaction "But you are clearly not opposed to such a meeting occurring"

"He might have some answers…" Noah justified with a slight shrug.

"And will he give them freely?" she retaliated sharply, as if almost annoyed by him considering such a meeting.

"Certainly not. I don't expect him to. But he might inadvertently say something useful to make sense of all this" he waved his hand around the room as if to illustrate his point.

"You already know what my opinion of him is. I cannot say that I fully trust Miss Hawthorne either, but at least she has not been the one to endanger us all. I would prefer it if you waited to discuss the recent developments with her rather than go and talk to him" she offered with a slight sigh, her voice steadier than before.

"I… I can see your point… " he started diplomatically, not wanting their discussion to become an outright argument.

"But?" she questioned with a measure of annoyance.

"Throughout this whole thing… throughout the past ten years, really, I have only listened to Hope's side of the tale. I merely took it as the truth because I thought I knew her and… I trusted her" the explanation was hard for him to give voice to, the words lodging themselves in his throat and refusing to come out easily.

"But now you no longer trust her…" it wasn't a question, it was a statement offered with a measure of surprise evident by the way in which her pale forehead creased a little.

"Lately, she hasn't given me much reason to" Noah retorted bitterly, the reply being the product of weeks of worry, anxiety and conversations that were akin to walking through a maze. Constance said nothing. Instead, she put her pale hand on his much bigger one and clasped it in a firm, reassuring hold.

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><p>If someone told him a few weeks before that he would ask Noah Elwood for help, he would have declared whoever was audacious enough to make such a claim absolutely mentally insane. But that was then. Now, the variables of the situation had dramatically changed, and, although he was loath to admit it, he did need the meddlesome doctor's help. It was not that Evan didn't expressly like the doctor. Quite frankly, had they met in different circumstances maybe they would have become something akin to friends, or if not, at least polite acquaintances. But, as things stood he could not help but resent the doctor's connection to Hope. Of course, during the man's previous visit he had prodded his mind and had felt no presence of romantic feeling towards the girl. Those seemed to be reserved for the dour potion mistress. Yet, even so, he could not help but resent the connection the two had and the apparent closeness between them. That being said, Evan knew that, despite his personal feelings, he did need the man's help.<p>

Evan was many things. He was cruel to his enemies, indifferent to most of the world and cold towards most people he met. He was also a very rational man, and it was this particular trait that had made him call Noah Elwood. After Hope had left him that fateful morning a few days back, he had done two things. Firstly, he had lamented her stubbornness and her willingness to sacrifice happiness for an irrational quest. Secondly, and far more productively, he had thought about what to do next. The fact that the woman hadn't attacked him during the night they had spent together was nothing but proof of her twisted sense of morality. Evan wasn't naïve enough to believe that he would be equally fortunate during subsequent encounters. He knew Hope, or at least he liked to think that he did, and knew that she would regard the fact that he was still alive as a failure on her part. A failure she would strive to not repeat.

And that was exactly the crux of the matter. As much as he loathed admitting it, if Hope decided to confront him earlier rather than later, his chances to retaliate would be very small. Quite frankly, taking into account the unfortunate condition of his physical health, his chances to come out alive from such an encounter were close to nil. To make matters worse, if he wanted to have any chance to achieve his own aim, he would have to confront her sooner rather than later.

Some would say that centring one's life on another human being was nothing short of irrational. But, for Evan, that was not the case. By virtue of his position as an Elemental Master his life, before he had even met her, had already been intrinsically connected to Hope's. They were, after all, moulded from the same material, shared analogous experiences and battled similar demons. When he had finally met her, the connection between the two changed from an awareness and acknowledgement of the other's existence to something immensely more complicated. Their two destines collided and their two lives became one, bound together by what he liked to believe to be love from both parties.

There were precious few truths that governed Evan's life and even fewer certainties. One such truth was that he loved Hope more than he loved life itself. He also knew that no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he could never have her. His initial sin had been too grave, his trespass too severe and his betrayal of her trust too momentous to be forgiven. That did not mean, in the slightest, that he could not strive to atone for what had been a terrible lapse of judgement.

Another certainty that Evan had, was that power changed people. Power didn't alter the mind in itself, but its existence, its subtle allure, did make one crave for more. Put simply, power bred ambition and greed. This was especially true in the case of people such as Hope and himself who had unlimited power just slightly beyond their grasps. Back then he had been eighteen and, as far as he was concerned, incredibly stupid. Back then he had thought that having unlimited power, in the form of the four Elements, was what truly mattered. Back then he did not, could not, understand that what he believed to be his life's goal would instead be his ruin. Possessing the four Elements together had, after all, been the wish of his ancestors. A wish which had been passed on, as if by divine mandate, to him. It was only when he had felt her life slip away that he had understood that, for him, possessing the four Elements was less important than preserving her life.

But his realizations had come too late and the price for his betrayal had been the conversion of her love into hate. From that moment onwards, Evan had been resolute to atone for his sin. In the beginning he had believed that, given enough time, Hope would forgive him. Or at least talk to him and allow him to explain himself. He had tried on various occasions to contact her by going to Hawthorne Manor, but the house had been deserted after the death of her father. No matter how hard he had tried, he could not reach her. Even in The Otherworld, the lake that divided their two domains had grown lager, not allowing him to see the other bank. For years he had despaired, for Hope, his Hope, seemed to have vanished into thin air. Despite her absence from his life, his love for her did not dissipate in the slightest but dulled, much like the throbbing of an amputated limb dulls into a phantom pain.

Then, ten years after her disappearance, he felt something shift in the nature of The Otherworld. The lake became narrower and he could see the bright flames of the other shore. For the first time in ten years he could feel a change, he could feel her come closer, and he found himself filled with anticipation. It was only after studying these unusual changes that he understood the reason behind them was the fact that she had started to use the Ankh Ring.

"_One word of advice before I leave, Evan: don't love me. For your own good, don't love me. Because the next time we meet there will be nothing left between us to stop me from wishing you dead…"_

_For a long time he hadn't taken her words seriously, especially since they had been said in a moment of extreme justified anger and indignation. The ten years that passed had compounded his certainty that, instead of making good on her threat, she was resolute to stay as far away from him as possible. The idea that Hope wanted nothing to do with him hurt. The realization that she was actually biding her time and she fully intended to extract revenge upon him was akin to excruciating pain. But it also afforded him the luxury of hoping that he would see her once more. _

Reading the lore of the Ring and Pendant had chilled him to the core and had proven to him that not only was Hope fully serious in her intention to hurt him, but that she was also willing to go to extreme lengths to do so. In her youth she had been a lot of things. She had been passionate, she had been stubborn and she had certainly been resentful at times. But she had never been cruel. Making use of such devices was proof that she had changed. Had her anger made her cruel? Had her wish to extract revenge embittered her? Had she been so very tainted by him that she had changed her very nature? He didn't know the answer to those questions. But he did know that the connection between the bearer of the Ring and Pendant was of such a nature that no one in their right mind would decide to make use of it.

Feeling at long last a chance for partial atonement at hand, he had then decided to go track down the owner of the pendant and put a stop to the entire matter before the situation worsened. Gaining access to the owner of the Pendant had been incredibly easy with the right amount of money and in no time he had been granted access to Cackle's and her deputy. His initial plan had been to simply dispose of Miss Hardbroom before the connection between the Pendant and the Ring became binding and irreversible. It was not something he took particular pleasure in, but if it saved Hope from herself then so be it. He had done a multitude of other questionable things, after all. It was only when he was rejoicing from his success after the collapse of Miss Hardbroom that he understood the situation was much more complicated and that the woman he loved had changed to an extent he could not believe possible.

That particular insight came to him in the form of a Phoenix, which for the others present must have been a spectacular sight but for him was the most terrible thing he had ever seen. Using the Ring he could understand and he could, to a certain extent, reverse. Summoning a demon, for that was what the Phoenix was, he could not. Summoning and controlling demons was a very trying task which took a toll not only on the body but also on the soul. To control a demon, the conjuror essentially gambled the integrity and immortality of his soul. To him, the fact that Hope was prepared to take such a gamble was proof that she was not only serious in her pursuits but that something else besides simple revenge was motivating her.

From early infancy they had both been taught that the soul was the most important thing a person possessed. It was the essence of a human being. It was the key to continued existence by entering the realm that was beyond the lake. Neither of them knew what exactly was beyond that transitioning point but they both knew that something was there. They had seen it. They both felt it every single time they went to The Otherworld. So, for Hope to endanger her soul was tantamount to madness. It was at that point that his concern had shifted from preserving the integrity of her physical being to that of her spiritual one. It was also at that point that he truly felt an immense amount of anger towards her.

It wasn't an entire noble thought that motivated his actions. In his darkest hours, often when his chosen paramour fell so very short of the ideal that was Hope, he imagined that even if he would not have a chance to be with her on this plane, he would be able to do so when they both were no longer confined by their earthly lives and the stifling circumstances that their positions as Elemental Masters created. It wasn't ideal, for he would have certainly preferred to have her with him in the physical sense as well, but it was better than nothing.

Quite frankly, if he thought that it would solve things, he would have simply allowed her to kill him. He had considered that option in all seriousness on a variety of occasions. If it had been only revenge that she sought, he would have allowed her to take revenge freely, with absolutely no opposition. He would have subjected himself to whatever punishment she saw fit. He would have allowed her whatever cruelty she desired. But that would solve absolutely nothing because, he understood, it was not only revenge that she was seeking but also, above all, power. What would she do after she had the four Elements? Would she be content or would she try to attain more by more nefarious means? Even worse, if she was Mistress of the four Elements there would be no one who could stop her from endangering herself. While Hope was willing to gamble with her own soul, he was not.

So, he locked her up in a prison from which she should have been unable to escape. He had been angry at her. He had been furious with her for trying to take away their only chance to be together, for being so irrational and for compromising herself to such an extent. For the first and only time in his life, he had hated her with an intensity he did not think possible. When they met in The Otherworld during the incident the only thing she had to do to free herself and all the others, had been to say that she gave up on her ambitions. Had she been able to do so, he would have immediately lowered the barrier of Water. But she did not. Instead, she managed to free herself, god only knew though what means.

And while she had been potentially throwing away the last shred of humanity she possessed, he had been stuck in a hospital, unable to do much more than sleep and dream of her. Finding that she had escaped had terrified him to the point that, had he not been under the influence of painkillers and sedatives, he would have gone to Cackle's and tried to talk to her himself. Whatever she had done to escape must have been beyond the realm of what was actually possible within the laws of magic. The only thing he could think of that made sense is that she had, once more, invoked a demon. But to invoke a demon and make it defy the laws of nature itself, would not come cheap. The price would be incredibly steep, steeper than normal, and Evan shuddered to think what that price might have been.

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><p>Amelia Cackle was, by nature, a passive person who, had she not been thrown into the role of headmistress, would have probably chosen a role that did not require leadership skills. But, as things stood, she was in a position where it was expected of her to take action and act as a guiding hand for those within the academy. More often than not that didn't bother her. In fact, under normal circumstances, her position as headmistress simply entailed answering long boring letters from parents and the Witches' Guild, solving the occasional, rather trivial argument between her staff members and sometimes offering advice to some of the girls. Normally, she wouldn't be confronted with matters of life and death. Normally, she wouldn't have to take decisions that would affect not only her, but those within the castle, to such a fundamental level. Normally, she wouldn't be expected to act upon ancient knowledge derived from books that had not been opened for centuries. But, as she stood in her office with the Grand Wizard pouring over one such book, Amelia reckoned that this was by no means a normal situation. In fact, normality had been so skewed for the past few months within Cackle's that she could not help but long for the days where avoiding her deputy in order to get a spot of tea and cheesecake at Cosy's had been one of her top concerns.<p>

When the Grand Wizard had stormed into her office almost a week beforehand, he had been frazzled beyond belief and carrying a strange old book that Amelia had not been familiar with. Then he had started to tell her a fantastic tale about how the Phoenix that had saved Constance's life had been in fact the summoning of demon. Understandably, Amelia's first reaction had been one of complete and utter disbelief. While she was not as versed as the Grand Wizard in magical creatures, she could not bring herself to consider that something as sinister as a demon had somehow made its way on the grounds of the academy. But, despite the feelings on the matter, she had to admit that the Grand Wizards' evidence was conclusive. More so, if what he had discovered was true, the consequences of the event were troubling to say the least.

Within the book that he carried, Egbert Hellebore had showed her a passage that he considered of upmost importance. Amelia had read it so many times that its words had lodged themselves into her brain: _ "the exorcist __with his companions must beware he give no eare to the melodie"_. That combined with the wizards' agitated inquiry of whether the bird was singing or not, had proved to the headmistress that the presence of the supernatural being was not a matter to be taken lightly. While her memories of the event were a little bit foggy, she had able to confirm that the bird had been indeed singing. Her declaration had disturbed the Grand Wizard further and had marked the start of a week-long research process.

More often than not, throughout the week, Amelia had felt her knowledge of the magical arts and workings of magic itself fall short. She was well aware that someone like Constance, who had dedicated her life to such a study, would be far more efficient and far more productive than her. But, she had also made the conscious decision to not involve her deputy in the matter. For the first time in years, Constance seemed almost content on both a professional and personal front and somehow, after all that had happened to her, Amelia was reluctant to dispel that happiness. As such, she allowed the younger woman to teach her classes and work on her budding relationship with Doctor Elwood, while she herself was cooped up with the Grand Wizard trying to figure the implications that the apparition of the demon had on the academy.

The theory they were working on was rather simple. Either Mr Mallard or Ms Hawthorne had decided to, for whatever reason, summon the demon in order to save Constance. Why they had needed to do so in the first place was a matter of opinion. The Grand Wizard was convinced that one of them had tried to harm the deputy and the other had tried to save her. Amelia, who was by nature a far more optimistic person, proposed that one of them had known about Constance's plight and when she had collapsed they had decided to help her. As Mr Mallard had been there at the time when that unfortunate event had occurred, it wouldn't have been impossible for him to want to lend a helping hand and, because the process was rather taboo, to wish to do so in secret. Amelia's optimistic outlook fell apart when Noah declared Constance to be completely healthy despite all odds. Her surprising recovery, while fortunate in itself, did indicate that the cause of the disease had been magical rather than physical and that reinforced the Grand Wizard's theory.

As to what the repercussions of the apparition of the demon were, the matter was far more complicated. They had both concluded, after hours of research, that the apparition had an effect on the castle's magic. Somehow, the conjuror had managed to make use of the castle's ancient magic to sustain the summoning. It had been the headmistress who had proposed this inference, based on the simple fact that the castle to which she was so much attached, did not _feel right_. It wasn't the most irrefutable piece of evidence she could have given, but some of the ancient tomes supported her belief. However, most chilling were the consequences of the fact that bird had been singing. According to _Clavicula Salomonis Regis, _also known as the Lesser Key of Solomon_,_ which contained Weyner's demonology appendix, one of the powers of the Phoenix as a demon was its ability to entrance its audience and make them bind to its will. Or, better said, to the conjuror's will. As to how many people would have been affected, for how long and what would such an abolishment of mental freedom entail, neither the headmistress nor the Grand Wizard could give an answer. On that matter, the books had been completely silent. However, it was a very real possibility that, for a certain amount of time, some of the residents of Cackle's Academy had been under the control of a third party.

Lastly, and Amelia believed it to be of the upmost importance, there was another matter that needed to be addressed. Namely, that they had two potential criminals roaming freely around the premises. Summoning demons was against the law, not that many people would have been insane enough to accept the cost that such a process would entail. Hours of reading about demonic possession had taught her that it was a very taxing procedure which, most often than not, resulted in misfortune for the conjuror. As such, she could infer that not only was that person going against the law but also had a command of magic that would be unparalleled. Whoever the conjuror was, he or she was very dangerous and needed to be banned from the school immediately.

"Grand Wizard? If you were to make an educated guess, who do you think summoned the Phoenix?" Amelia asked, lifting her head from the old, yellowed pages of _Clavicula Salomonis Regis_.

"I think, based on the fact that the Phoenix is a magical being often associated with Fire, Miss Hawthorne is more likely to have summoned it. As to why she did so, I cannot say" he answered as carefully as possible

"We need to make her leave Cackle's for good" Amelia said after a moment's thought, her elbows placed on her desk, her cheek resting on her knuckles. "I will call the Guild immediately and have her removed from her potions student teacher position"

The Grand Wizard watched her in stunned disbelief of a moment. Then he started laughing. Amelia felt rather offended by his reaction.

"Dear lady, the Hawthorne family is one of the oldest, richest and most influential families in the magical world. Do you think you have more sway over the Guild than Miss Hawthorne has?" his voice was laced with mirth, his eyes bearing a spark of something dark in them.

"But if the children are at risk, surely they…" Amelia replied indignantly.

"Miss Cackle, I know how those old bats work. They will listen to you, assuage your fears and the moment you put the phone down, they will call Miss Hawthorne and inform her that her most recent employer is making wild claims against her. From that moment onwards, Miss Hawthorne will have the power of life and death over the school, with the full support of the Guild" he answered darkly "It makes no difference to them whether what you say is true or not. They cannot punish her or even investigate the matter because it would create a dangerous precedent. They all come from families as old as hers and they have all done things that they are not proud of. It would not be in their interest to allow one of their own to come under scrutiny, because then they would all be liable to have the same thing happen to them in the future"

"So, you are saying she is above the law?" the headmistress questioned skeptically.

"They all are" Egbert responded, a measure of disgust clear in his voice

"Then what can we do? Surely, she cannot be allowed to roam freely around the school!" It was unnerving to Amelia to think that someone was above the law and the code they took so much pain to teach the girls.

"I think that she might be more inclined to leave if we had some form of physical evidence that she has actually broken the law…" Egbert answered after a moment's thought, a slightly triumphant smile appearing at the corner of his lips.

* * *

><p>The first time he had entered into the lion's den, Noah had been angry. In fact he had been so angry that the force of his emotion had allowed the other man to control his feelings and thoughts. It was with a sense of apprehension that he had decided to once again take the plunge and return to Mallard Manor. That and an intense desire to at find answer to at least part of the questions that had been plaguing him. However, for his own safety Noah had decided to keep as calm and emotionless as possible. After all, there was hardly any love lost between them and he did not put it past the man to try, yet again, to influence his thoughts.<p>

That being said, when he actually came face to face with the master of the house, Noah found it hard to believe that Evan, as he was at that very moment, had the strength to magically influence anything. Quite frankly, the man looked a few steps away from death's door and every fibre in Noah's medical mind screamed that he should take the man to a hospital and not start a potentially antagonistic conversation with him at that particular moment. He quickly quieted that impulse by reminding himself that: one, he was not Mr Mallard's handler and two, the man in front of him had been responsible for almost killing his best friend and the woman he loved.

"Doctor Elwood, do come in and take a seat" Evan offered graciously, a polite smile plastered on his face.

"Why did you call me here?" under normal circumstances, and faced with another person, Noah would have been more gracious. Yet, he figured that the rut he had been in for the past months did give him the excuse to not be as polite as he normally would.

"As I said during our brief conversation on the phone I wish to discuss something with you… Something about our mutual acquaintance" Evan's answer was surprisingly straightforward, considering that, much like Hope, he preferred to be as evasive as possible.

"I think Hope is more than a mutual acquaintance for both of us" Noah challenged evenly, sitting down in the armchair opposite the one Mr Mallard was occupying.

"Yes, indeed. You are quite perceptive doctor and might have gathered that I do harbour some feelings for her…" Mr Mallard answered in a rather strained voice, one of his hands rubbing his face tiredly "I also believe that she might… or at least might have responded in kind at some point"

"Mr Mallard, if you have called me here to play matchmaker, you will be sorely disappointed. I learned long ago that, despite my status as her friend, it is best I do not interfere in matters of a strictly personal nature" Noah warned plainly, his eyes watching his converser like a hawk.

"If only it were that simple, Doctor…If only it were that simple… In fact, I believe that out of this whole business only one romantic entanglement will come out unscathed and it is not mine with Hope" Evan answered slightly under his breath , his voice having a somewhat acrimonious quality to it.

"So, why did you ask me to come here, Mr Mallard?" he questioned with a rather defeated sigh, truly hoping that he would get a proper answer which would not involve solving a million of riddles.

"I need your help" Evan retorted plainly, his features explicitly showing how much he resented his own words.

"My help?" Noah repeated in confusion, expecting neither such frankness nor such a request. He pondered his next words carefully before voicing them. "Mr Mallard, if you need my help from a medical point of view, then my duty as a doctor compels me to offer it freely. However, if you need my assistance in other matters, I must…"

"Doctor Elwood, what did Hope tell you about the ring she wears?" Evan inquired abruptly, raising a hand to stop the doctor's discourse.

"Why should I tell you?" the reaction was defensive and prompt.

"She didn't tell you much, did she? She didn't tell you what it actually does? You seem like a clever man, doctor, so it is beyond me how you can still be loyal to her considering the amount of things she keeps from you" Evan said in a slight derogatory voice and Noah could feel his blood boil for a second.

"Mr Mallard, I can assure you that mocking me is not the best way to secure my help" Noah answered icily, his eyes challenging the other man to continue on that particular train of thought.

"Then how about I tell you a story?" Evan exhaled, trying to his best to keep his temper and his tongue in check. After all, the doctor did have a point.

"Mr Mallard, I don't have the time to…" the doctor started to protest but was stopped once again by his interlocutor's raised hand.

"Pray listen. And at the end you will decide whether an alliance of sorts is worthwhile between the two of us… The story does, after all, explain why our families are so irrevocably connected" Evan explained smoothly and waited for guest's response. After a moment's thought Noah nodded his assent.

* * *

><p>The legend starts with an old king who had four children. Three sons and a daughter…" Evan started and Noah's blood ran cold "The king, even if he wasn't the ruler of a particularly powerful domain, was respected throughout the land for his amazing magical power. No one dared to challenge him. However, the king didn't use his power to further his small kingdom or gain riches. In fact, he barely used it at all. Suffice to say, some were not particularly pleased with this. Especially the daughter…"<p>

"Adenah" Noah whispered involuntarily and Evan raised an elegant eyebrow.

" Yes, Adenah was her name. You know the story, Doctor Elwood?" Evan asked with a measure of surprise.

"I suspect I only know the beginning…" Noah replied, inwardly chastising himself for his slip of the tongue. "Do continue…"

"Well, Adenah had a very ambitious nature and failed to understand why her father did not use his gifts to further their station in life. She was also in a very difficult position, for, as a woman at that time, she could not inherit the king's power upon his death. The one who would inherit would be her eldest brother, Alton. In fact, her only chance to gain a better life was through marriage. But becoming the queen of an insignificant kingdom was not enough for her. She wanted at least part of the king's power for herself. So, she concocted a plan to make the king give her some of it…" he rose from his armchair, his movements slow and deliberate, and walked towards the drinks cabinet, Noah's eyes following his every movement "Can I offer you something to drink, doctor?"

"Just water, please" the doctor replied unwilling to have his faculties in any way impaired by alcohol.

"Are you certain? The continuation of the story might warrant something stronger than water and I do have an excellent bottle of bourbon. A…" Evan offered effortlessly.

"… 23 year-old Evan Williams?" Noah continued for him, knowing fully well that it was the only kind of hard liquor that Hope ever indulged in when the mood struck. It was notoriously hard to get as the only place you could buy it was the Kentucky distillery itself. His own reserve consisted of only three bottles and had been procured through an American contact and only because he had been told, repeatedly by a certain friend of his, that he had nothing decent to drink in the house.

"You are quite right" his host offered a wry smile "Shall I pour you a glass?"

"No, thank you. I don't particularly like it" he replied graciously "And, considering the cocktail of medication you should be taking, you shouldn't pour yourself one either!" he followed, the doctor in him absolutely horrified at the prospect of mixing pills with alcohol.

"Then water it is… for us, both" he said with a dry laugh, and waved his hand over two empty glasses. He handed a filled glass to Noah who took a sip and felt his eyes widen in surprise. The water was good. In fact it was the most refreshing thing he had ever tasted; something akin to the taste of clear water from a mountain spring. He gulped it down hungrily and as soon as he finished he saw that his glass had been re-filled.

"That was rather refreshing… thank you. I didn't know Elemental Masters could change the proprieties of an Element to such a degree that something like its taste changes"

"You couldn't have known. After all, neither of Hope's Elements is comestible, and I believe you've never willingly placed your hand in one of her flames to see if it burns or not. But yes, we do have a certain degree of control over their attributes" Evan replied simply.

The knowledge that he could change the proprieties of his Element had come to him rather recently. After Hope had left that unfortunate morning, one of the things he had researched had been why her flames hadn't burned him. The result of his research had not been ground-breaking, a success or in any way useful to him. He had set out to find a way to stop her and instead he had learned how to produce spring water, which he had to admit, as he took a sip from his own glass, was indeed very refreshing.

* * *

><p>"So, going back to the story… Where was I?" Evan turned to face his interlocutor.<p>

"Adenah came up with a plan to have the king to give her some of his power…" Noah supplied helpfully.

"Yes. Well, Doctor Elwood, it is at this point that our families become irreversibly connected" he said with a smile that showed he wasn't particularly pleased by that outcome.

"How so?"

"Well, the king had a sister. She wasn't in any way magical but she was married to a man who was part of the family that had given the land its most talented and powerful diviners, a certain Linos Elwood" he explained patiently and saw that the doctor's eyes widened in recognition "Adenah's plan was, in itself, very simple. She believed that if she could convince a foreteller to issue a prophecy saying that the downfall of humanity will come if the power is not equally distributed between the children, then the king would grant her some of his power. So she set out to do just that."

"But that can't be done" Noah intervened "A foreteller is bound by an oath of magic to never lie when he or she is issuing a prophecy. If he lies he will go mad and everyone will know the prophecy was wrong"

"That is why Adenah's plan was to convince the foreteller to issue two prophecies: one predicting the death of the king in a set number of days, and the other predicting the downfall of the world if the power was not equally distributed. When the first prophecy would prove to be wrong, no one would know whether the foreteller went mad because the first prophecy was wrong or because both prophecies were wrong. And she knew that her father would not risk the absolute destruction of the world" Evan followed and Noah's mind tried to reconcile the image of what he had seen in his dream, with Mr Mallard's words.

"So she decided to marry her uncle and compel him to make the prophecy" he concluded remembering how the red-haired girl had called Lord Elwood 'her betrothed'.

"Yes. She planned to marry him and ensnare him to such a degree that he would care more about her wishes than about his mental health. But there was a little complication because, Linos Elwood, the most famous diviner in the land at the time, was married to her aunt"

"So she killed his wife" Noah interrupted, remembering how Adam, the stout short man, had cautioned Lord Elwood against 'suffering the same fate' as his wife, before giving him the knife.

"She didn't. She got Alton to do it" Evan answered with a shake of his head.

"Why would Alton agree to such a thing?" the doctor asked, thoroughly surprised. Out of the three brothers, Alton, as the eldest and heir, would have no reason to get involved in such a scheme. On the contrary.

"Why does a man do anything for a woman?" he replied with a measure of sarcasm.

"He loved her…" Noah answered, the image of the blond young man's disgruntled glare as Lord Elwood refused to kiss his sister coming immediately to mind.

"That he did. And not in a brotherly fashion…He was in love with her, apparently most ardently" Evan replied, his voice even, a somewhat bitter smile playing on his lips.

"So he killed Lord Elwood's wife" he concluded "What happened next?"

"She managed to make Lord Elwood fall in love with her and make the two prophecies. Everything went according to plan. He went mad but the king, on his dying bed, split the power equally between the four heirs. They became the original four Elemental Masters and their powers became intertwined with their bloodlines. But after receiving Fire, Adenah realized that it was not enough, so she tricked Adam to will away Earth to her"

"And Alton took Aether's Air"

"Yes"

"If they loved each other, why did they start feuding?"

"That I do not know. Alton's writings, which have been passed down from generation to generation into my family, are not very forthcoming on this issue. My best guess would be ambition and a hunger for power that neither could resist" he shrugged "But I do know what happened after they started fighting, which brings us to the matter of the Ring"

Noah straightened himself in his armchair and, seeing that he had a captivated audience, Evan continued.

"Because Alton knew all her tricks and their powers were almost equal, Adenah knew that she had to find another source of energy that would make her stronger than him. The opportunity arose when she discovered that one of her serfs was incredibly talented in the magical arts, to the point that the people in the village started to compare her to the Mistress of Fire herself. Suffice to say, Adenah was not very pleased about being compared to a serf. So, on false charges of thievery, she had the young woman arrested and condemned to death. Then, when she saw the girl's magical prowess she decided to transfer that power onto herself. So, in Avalon's Lux Eterna, she created two objects that formed an unbreakable bond between two humans: a pendant and a ring"

"What sort of bond? What does 'transfer the power' mean?" Noah asked suddenly afraid of the implications Mr Malard's words might have on those close to him.

"The bond was, in essence, a magical contract. Before being imprisoned, the girl had fallen with child, so Adenah promised her that she would preserve her life until the child was born if she took the pendant and willed the pendant into her bloodline until the end of time. Naturally, the girl, young, pregnant and scared agreed to it" he answered simply.

"What does the pendant do to the person who wears it?" Noah whispered, and feeling his throat constrict, took a sip of water.

"The terms of the contract are deceivingly simple. The bearer of the Ring promises to maintain the life of the bearer of the Pendant. If that promise is broken, the bearer of the Ring dies. In return the one who bears the Pendant wills their magic away to the one who bears the Ring" Evan replied calmly and watched how the doctor seemed to become pale.

"So the one who bears the Pendant would become unable to perform magic, right?" he said with a measure of hope in his voice.

"If only it was that simple…" Evan replied bitterly "Doctor, both magical and non-magical people are born with a certain amount of the four Elements within them, which come together to form what we traditionally recognize as magic. In essence, everyone is born with a spark of magic within them. But, mostly due to breeding, some extraordinary individuals are born with a bit more. They are those who can actually perform magic. Magic is an integral part of everyone because it is an integral part of our souls. Taking away someone's magic is like tearing apart their soul"

"Mr Mallard… I think I will take that drink, now" Noah whispered after a few moments of silence, his hands trembling slightly. With a nod, Evan moved towards the drinks cabinet "She is perfectly well, now… " he followed more for himself, while his host prepared the requested beverage.

"That is probably because whatever Hope did to get out of the potions laboratory infused her with so much magic that her body cannot receive any more without destroying itself. But once her body adjusts to the new level of power the process will continue." Evan responded and offered his guest a glass filled with an amber liquid. Noah was gratified to see that it was scotch. Quite frankly he didn't think he could stomach bourbon. Now or ever.

"Is there any way to stop it? Can something be done? There must be something… a miscalculation…anything…" he asked with a measure of desperation in his voice.

"Not quite…" Evan replied carefully as he sat back in his chair "There was a miscalculation of sorts, but not one that would suit your purpose very well"

"What was it?" Noah asked quickly. Whatever miscalculation, whatever error that had been made could be a way to free Constance form that terrible fate.

"When she created the objects and made the contract, Adenah did not take into account that she was mistress of two Elements and not only one. Had she only been Mistress of Fire, her plan would have worked perfectly. Earth governs Death in the way that Air governs Life and birth. Because of that, the Masters of Air and Earth have the obligation to preserve the integrity of human souls at all cost. If that duty is broken, then their own souls are at risk. And these two objects clearly break that particular law of nature" he answered with a certain mixture of sadness and bitterness in his voice.

* * *

><p>Sitting at what once had been her father's desk, Hope felt a multitude of things ranging from frustration to outright desperation. In a show of such negative feelings, she barely stopped herself from setting on fire the big, ancient tomes that were crowding the desk and leaned against her chair with a defeated expression gracing her features. When she had started her self-imposed confinement to the ancestral manor of her family, she had actually had a course of action in mind. Namely answering three very important questions: Who was the inheritor of Air? How could two souls that had merged be separated? And, last but not the least, what effect had the heir of the pendant on the bond between the Ring-bearer and the one who owned the pendant?<p>

The first question had been easily enough to answer, mostly due to the almost anal obsession old families had with recording their genealogy. It was rather ironic that it had taken her about half a day to find the thing that people had been look for centuries and which had inspired the imagination of writers throughout history; namely, the Holy Grail. A quick call to the Witches' Guild had told her that Constance Hardbroom had graduated from Witch Training College fourteen years before. Then, a quick call to the city hall of the town where the college was located, under the pretence of being an estranged relative of Miss Hardbroom wanting to inform her of an inheritance, told her that fifteen years before, said woman had rented a house with a certain Cain Martel. Checking the man's name against the self-updating genealogy records her family possessed, confirmed her suspicions that he was indeed a descendant of the initial Master of Air. Thus, after a couple of hours of research she realized that the Holy Grail, or at least the father of the Holy Grail, was very much alive and well, living in France of all places.

The second question had been far more problematic and it had yet to have an answer. Nothing that she could find was even remotely helpful to her mostly because the situation seemed to be rather unique. There was a lot of information about exorcism and casting away demons, mostly in useless books written by non-magical people, but nothing about separating two merged souls. As to why such a phenomenon had been possible in the first place, she had a couple of working theories, but none of which were incredibly convincing. Still, this second question, while important in the long run, was hardly the most pressing issue. After all, the soul of the child that was sharing Mildred's body seemed to be mostly benign. If anything, the experience was rather frightening for the young girl, but Hope didn't believe it to be truly dangerous.

It was the third question that was perhaps the most important because its answer would have the most immediate consequences. The lore of the Ring and of the Pendant was not something that had been extensively documented by her ancestors, mainly because Adenah, the initial Mistress of Fire, had not allowed the entire process to run its course. Why that was, Hope did not know, but because of that, generations upon generations had discarded it as a failed, dangerous experiment. The only thing that they did record, had been the names and dates of death of those who had born the Pendant, generation after generation. That meant that she only had suppositions and her own knowledge of how human souls worked when trying to answer the last question.

Her initial conclusion had been that the soul of the dead infant would not have any bearing on the magical contract. When Adenah had created the magical contract with one of her serfs, one of the conditions was to pass the pendant from mother to daughter until the bloodline came to an end. That had inadvertently created a certain parallel between the fate of the ones who were destined to bear the Pendant and those who would inherit the Ring: when a Mistress of Fire was born, a bearer of the Pendant died. Constance Hardbroom's mother had died on the 21st of July almost twenty six years previously. Her grandmother had died when her mother had been born. Constance Hardbroom herself would have died when her own child would have been born. But then again, so would Hope. In every case where the Pendant and the Ring were not used, the one who bore the Pendant and the analogous Mistress of Fire died on the same day.

While that was an interesting oddity, it did nothing to shed light on the current situation or explain what happened when the bond between the two objects did run its course. The only other witch in history who had allowed it to, the famous Morgana LaFey, had been too erratic, too consumed by her need to defeat her opponent to actually bother to leave behind an explanation of what had occurred. What Hope supposed the parallelism of the destinies of those two people meant was that one Mistress of Fire could only make use of the powers of their analogous Pendant-bearer and not the heir to the pendant as well. Taking that into account, the fact that Miss Hardbroom had an heir, even if it wasn't in a traditional sense of the word, shouldn't have had a bearing on the process.

Had it not been for something that nagged at the back of her mind, Hope would have left it at that and would have tried to further research ways to exorcise the dead soul from Millie's living one. But, there was something that she could not disregard, no matter how much she tried. And that was the feeling she had the first time she had made a semblance of contact with the potions mistress. Back then after she had come out of the trance in which she had invoked the Phoenix, Noah had asked what had been killing the deputy. Her answer had not made much sense. She remembered that her exact words had been: _"… it had a really unique magical imprint. It felt like it was old and young at the same time. New and ancient, extremely good and extremely evil…" _

In light of the discovery of the bond between Mildred's soul and that of the dead infant, Hope's words and feelings made much more sense to her. She could say with confidence that at that particular moment the deputy had not been harmed only by the power of the bond between the Pendant and the Ring, but also by the presence of the soul of her own unborn child. Mildred's own admission that the first time she heard the strange voice, which had been plaguing her for quite a while, during the assembly which was celebrating Evan's arrival at the academy as its benefactor, gave weight to Hope's theory. That seemed to be the moment when the soul of the child had made contact with the world of humans. It also seemed that, for whatever reason, that the first contact had almost killed Miss Hardbroom.

Why that happened and whether it would happen again was the crux of the matter. The way in which the two objects worked was, in fact, very simple. The souls of the Ring-bearer and the one who had inherited the pendant were, in fact, two souls bound together, one feeding of the other while giving ultimate protection at the same time. In practical terms it meant that if Miss Hardbroom expired because of any other cause than the bond between the two objects, Hope herself would die because she would have broken her end of the magical contract. If it was only a case of a one-time occurrence, the fact that the deputy had been harmed by her soul of her unborn child would have not been much of a problem. Yet, if it was liable to happen again, if it had been happening all these time, then Miss Hardbroom could die because of it. And that would entail Hope's own death.

Then it struck her. She had always referred to the child as an infant but, if the child had been a still-birth then her soul would not be that of an infant but that of a foetus. The soul of a foetus was undeveloped. Much like the foetus shared his mother's body, nourishment, and emotions it also partly shared its mother's soul. That was why, if a pregnant woman died she only had to take one soul. Or, why she had never had to take the souls of children who had been aborted. Taking that into account, it meant that by virtue of its nature, the soul that was attached to Mildred fed onto the soul of the deputy. What had been a dyadic bond, was now shared by three people, three souls and that meant that there was a very real possibility that the process would fail.

That left her with two alternatives: stop the process of transference or quickly find a way to exorcise the soul out of Millie. Feeling like she was finally getting somewhere, Hope turned to her ancient books to try to find out which avenue would be most appropriate.

* * *

><p>Noah took a moment to process what was happening. If what Mr Mallard said was true, then not only was Hope actively and willingly trying to kill Constance and destroy her soul, but in doing so, she was also destroying her own soul. What in the world could have possessed her to do that? Hope was, for most part, rational and would not take such an insanely dangerous course of action without having a good cause. Of course there was the possibility that what Mr Mallard was saying was not true. And, before condemning his friend, Noah was more than willing to further investigate the latter avenue.<p>

"She said you were coming and she couldn't face you without the Ring" he said in an accusing tone, his eyes looking at the other man trying to glimpse any sort of deceit.

"Doctor," Evan offered a bitter chuckle "If I had known where she was, I would have come. But only to throw myself at her feet and beg for her forgiveness"

"Forgiveness for what?" he asked in the same harsh tone and could see that the other man was pondering whether to answer or not "Do remember that you are trying to secure my help"

"Ten years ago, I had a moment of… weakness" he chose his words cautiously; every word he uttered seeming almost painful to him "I tried to take her two Elements from her. Understandably, she has been unable to forgive me"

"You tried to kill her?" Noah asked in astonishment, the accusation clear in his remark.

"Yes" he admitted under his breath, his head slightly turned towards the flames in the fireplace "I have been… regretting it… every day, ever since."

Once again, Noah found himself looking for any signs of dishonesty, but he could find none. On the contrary. Whatever had happened ten years before seemed to have affected Mr Mallard to such an extent that the memory of that event still had a hold on him. For a moment the younger man's hazel eyes had seemed lost in another time, in another place and a shadow of grief passed on his features before he consciously schooled them into a neutral expression and turned to face him once more.

"You went to Cackle's with the intention of killing Miss Hardbroom" Noah accused once more, not allowing his gentler feelings to be swayed by what seemed as a genuine expression of remorse.

"Yes" Evan replied simply "I believed that I could stop the process from occurring before it became binding. I have nothing against Miss Hardbroom, but if I thought that it would have some merit, I would not hesitate to do it again. Unfortunately for me, and I suspect fortunately for you, it does not. Thus, it is not me who you need to be worried about regarding the deputy's continued welfare"

"This is madness! You expect me to help you after you freely admit that you tried to hurt someone I care about!" Noah retorted with a measure of outrage.

"I believe I told you once before that, unlike Hope, I conduct my business in the open. I would do whatever is necessary to preserve her life and, if that is impossible, at least preserve the integrity and immortality of her soul. If I needed to, I would kill you, Miss Hardbroom and the entire human kind!" Mr Mallard answered more forcefully than before, his words having a cutting edge to them.

"If her welfare is so important to you, why did you try to destroy her by locking her up in the potions lab?" Noah could honestly say that never in his life he had seen such misguided show of loyalty and affection from anyone.

"She only had to say that she gave up on her ambition of gaining the four Elements and I would have lowered the field!" Evan almost yelled, becoming clearly aggravated by the stream of denunciations "I waited for her every single day in the Otherworld knowing that she would show up! And when she did, she refused to give up! She refused it! Instead of saying three blasted words, she chose to do god knows what and endanger herself further!"

It was with a deep sense of astonishment that Noah watched him take a deep breath, trying to calm himself, his elbows placed on his knees, one hand involuntarily pressing for a moment against his chest. Whatever the reality of the situation might have been, Evan Mallard believed that he had acted justly. And, Noah had to admit that, if one were to look at the situation from his perspective and take into account his twisted sense of what was right and what was wrong, they would see his actions as being defensible. If there was one grain of truth in the whole story, it was the fact that Evan obviously cared about Hope. Not only cared, but perhaps loved with an intensity which bordered on obsession. In Noah's opinion, his actions had been terribly misguided and he could not condone them in any situation. But his motives had been, in a strange sort of way, pure. If all that he had heard was true, that was much more than he could say about Hope's motives.

"Mr Mallard, do try to calm down before you do yourself harm" the doctor advised in a much gentler tone than before "What would have happened if she had been unable to free herself?" he continued his enquiry in a milder voice upon seeing that his host had regained a measure of control.

"She would have died, and I would have become the Master of the four Elements. I would have immediately impregnated a woman to ensure the continued survival of the world and I would have died the moment the child drew his first breath" he said dryly, in all seriousness, his eyes meeting those of the doctor as if urging him to see the truth behind his words.

There were so many things that seemed wrong with that particular statement that Noah didn't know exactly where to start. He decided to not even try.

"Doctor Elwood, I don't require you to trust me or even believe that what I said was the truth… I do, however, need your help" Evan said much more firmly than before.

"How could I help you when…"Noah started

"Please" he interrupted with a measure of civility "The contract between the Ring bearer and the owner of the Pendant can be stopped through the volition of the Ring bearer. Adenah did manage to stop it at some point when she realized that it was hurting rather than helping. I don't know how she did it, but Hope must know. Urge her to stop before it becomes too late. There is so much damage one's soul can take before it destroys itself"

"I am afraid you are overestimating the influence I have on her" he answered truthfully "Perhaps, if her feelings are what I suspect them to be, you would be more successful"

"I tried and failed" he retorted bitterly "As you might have gathered by my less than stellar appearance, I am hardly in any position to confront in an outright fight her right now. The only reason I am still alive is because I believe she took pity on my decrepit state. I cannot reasonably expect such mercy again. And, if she does become the Mistress of the four Elements no one would be able to stop her"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong>

I hope you have enjoyed reading this chapter. As it pretty much exposes the theory behind half of the plot of Fire and Ice , I would be very grateful if you shared your opinions on this chapter via your reviews.

Also, please let me know if you would like to read Fire and Ice Book 2.


	16. Chapter 16

Dear reader,

It has been a long journey but I am pleased to say that it has finally come to an end. I want to thank you very much for being patient and following this story. As I said, Fire and Ice means a lot to me and the fact that is appreciated has truly sustained me in a lot of less than happy moments in real life.

Thank you very much for those who took the time to review the previous chapter: **movies4lyf**, **fantasy77**, **DissectingPomengrates**, **Nina1985** and **Crissiemusa**. Thank you for your support!

Also, a huge thanks to all those who have reviewed throughout the course of the story! I hope this last chapter is up to your standards.

Last, but certainly not the least, huge thanks to **NCD **who has always been my strongest supporter. Without her Fire and Ice would have not existed. As such, my gratitude to her is limitless.

On the matter of a potential sequel, this is, as I said up to you. I have already started penning something out and, if people are interested in reading it, I will do my best to post it as soon as possible.

Yours sincerely,

The Author

* * *

><p><strong>FIRE AND ICE<strong>

**BOOK I: THE WIELDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR**

**Chapter 16:** _**If so, then forever your flame did succumb,**_

_**And forever your voice from today will be dumb.**_

_**If so, then hereafter can bring no rebirth.**_

_**If so, then this angel was nothing but earth.**_

_**And thus, lovely soil that breath has departed,**_

_**I stand by your coffin alone broken-hearted;**_

_**And yet I don't weep, rather praise for its fleeing**_

_**Your ray softly crept from this chaos of being**_

_(Mihai Eminescu- Mortua Est)_

_When he opened his eyes, the edges of his vision were blurred, and everything about him seemed far too bright, far too cheerful to match the sad reality of his life and the current realizations. Noah blinked once, then twice, attempting futilely to bring everything into focus. As far as he could tell, he seemed to be in a garden of sorts, tiny specks of colour covering the mass of green that seemed to surround him and imposing green hedges preventing him from seeing what was a few meters beyond them. A few moments of inspection later, he found that he was sitting on a couch, or perhaps bench, of sorts. He tried to move his legs but found that he could not and a wave of panic bubbled in his chest. The sound of metal hitting metal seemingly far away reached his ears and he once again tried to move his body but found his muscles unresponsive. He was trapped. _

_He could see the tall, blurry figure of a man approaching and all his senses were in high alert. Noah tried to fight against the weakness of his muscles, the weakness of his tongue, but found it to be a futile pursuit. His mind, the logical, analytical mind he had always prided himself on, could find no explanation for his predicament. The man approached him and stood in front of him, as if inspecting him with clear blue eyes, a wave of some ambiguous emotion momentarily passing on his straight features. _

_It took a moment for Noah to recognize him. The man's face was no longer youthful but instead was marred by the lines of time, his eyes no longer had the arrogance of youth in them, but instead were more tampered, more cautious. Thin specks of grey blended with the luxurious blond locks that reached his chin and the dark blue collar of his doublet. Alton. Or at least, an older, much older, version of Alton, Noah reckoned. Suddenly everything seemed to make sense, or at least as much sense as everything made nowadays, and he allowed his muscles to relax. _

"_Do you still have the dagger, uncle?" Alton asked with something akin to a long-suffering sigh, his straight posture sagging slightly. _

_Noah pondered for a second how to reply. He did have the dagger. But it was him, Noah Elwood, who had it. He had no idea whether the weapon was still in Lord Linos Elwood's possession. He didn't know what the man had done with it. Had he used it, like Adam had counselled? And if he had, what had it been its effect? Noah settled for saying nothing and instead looked straight at the other man. Alton seemed to take his silence as reluctance to offer information and, with another sigh, he started pacing in front of him. _

"_Adam is looking for it" Alton said after a few minutes of silence, as if that was supposed to explain everything. Perhaps it did, Noah reckoned. Perhaps those words made some sort of sense to the actual Lord Elwood, but to him they meant nothing. As such, he said nothing._

"_Uncle, your current condition is proof enough…" Alton waved his hand in his general direction, exasperation creeping in his voice "… that you care, or at least cared, for Adenah. If that dagger reaches Adam, there is no telling what he might do with it…and how she may be harmed. I need it."_

_Noah took in what Alton was saying and looked at his exasperated expression. He seemed tired, beaten down by life itself and his words suddenly seemed more like a plea than a demand. What Mr Mallard had said about Alton loving his sister more than a brother should love a sister, rang in his head and for a moment he looked at the man with different eyes. Perhaps he was romanticizing it, perhaps he was looking into it too much, but the original Master of Water looked like a lover concerned for his partner's fate. Whatever the dagger did, or was supposed to do, obviously worried Alton. And Noah, who had the dagger in his possession, could not help but be worried as well._

_For a moment the doctor opened his lips to speak. He wanted to tell Alton that he was not who he believed him to be. He wanted to tell him that he did indeed have the dagger but not in that particular time, but in a time so far removed that it seemed inconceivable. He wanted to ask about what it did, he wanted to know why it was so dangerous, he wanted to know what the weapon actually was. No sound came from his throat and, after a moment, everything dissolved into nothingness. _

Covered in a thin sheet of sweat, Noah sprang from his bed as if burned. Automatically, his right hand reached for the drawer of his night stand where he had placed the dagger. He took the offending object out and studied it closely. After days upon days of looking at it, he could honestly say that each and every carving, each and every stone on its handle had burned itself into his mind. Nothing had changed about it. Everything was as it had been seven days before and that perhaps unnerved him more than the alternative. Why was the weapon so important? What could it do? Why had Adam given it to him in the first place?

With a sigh, Noah placed the dagger on the dusty surface of his night table and, with succinct motions, he climbed out of bed straight towards the shower. He needed to get out of the room. He needed to go to Cackle's and see Constance, tell her about the dream and, perhaps, she would make more sense of it than him. He needed to somehow see Hope and try to make her explain everything that has been going on for the past months. No that it would be easy. It never was and it never will be.

* * *

><p>Algernon Rowan-Webb decided that, had he not spent half of his lifespan as a frog, he would have been either a world-class spy or a world-class thief. That realization came as a result of a task that Egbert Hellebore had asked him to perform. Namely, go investigate where Miss Hawthorne had lived before coming to the academy. While he found his friend's fascination with accusing the young woman of the wildest of things slightly disturbing, he also knew that he owed a debt to Egbert for the part he had played in his rescue. As such, grumbling under his breath, he had given his assent to perform that task which he found most distasteful. Knowing from the chanting teacher that Miss Hawthorne had been in the village before actually taking up residence at the academy, had given Egbert the strangest of thoughts: that Miss Hawthorne had hidden some sort of powerful magical artefact, which bore the mark of the demon Phoenix, that allowed her to summon demons, of all things, somewhere close to the academy. Algie fundamentally disagreed with that idea, but he also knew that, when the mood struck, his friend was implacable in his beliefs. As such, he had figured that the only way through which he could clear the young woman's name was to perform the required task and find nothing incriminating.<p>

Fortunately for Algie, the village had only one inn and the innkeeper was as interested in maintaining his customers' privacy as he was in maintaining the inn itself, which, considering the decrepit state of the building, wasn't much. Within minutes of his arrival at the inn, the old man had told him that indeed a woman whose characteristics matched those of Miss Hawthorne had lived there for quite a while with a male companion, and had, at some point left the inn, leaving her companion behind. At that particular point, Algie had been prepared to make his retreat, transform into a frog and stealthily go to Miss Hawthorne's former room. But those plans became suddenly irrelevant when the innkeeper, it his crass ignorance, offered him a tour of the room, proclaiming it to be the best room in the inn. Naturally, Algie took him up on the offer.

The room could be described as many things but 'tasteful'. 'clean' and 'beautiful' could not be, in any conceivable way, part of that description. Instead the room praised as the best-suite in the inn, was a small dusty thing, with garish wallpapered walls, and threadbare sheets. The current inhabitant seemed to have left in a hurry which certainly did nothing to improve the overall aspect of the room. Algie sighed softly under his breath. Egbert's paranoia was certainly becoming rather annoying, especially considering that the place he had sent him to had nothing even remotely remarkable about it. It was simply an old, shabby inn room. Even so, for the sake of keeping his promise, he started to half-heartedly pace around.

Had it not been for the strange gust of wind that seemed, for less than a second, to envelop the entire room, Algie reckoned he would have given up. Perhaps it would have been better. But, that chilling wave of air made him stop in his tracks and turn in surprise. Then he felt it. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. For a moment he felt like the burden of the entire world had been placed on his shoulders. His frame involuntarily sagged, his eyes lowered, his hands shook with fear and he could not help but wonder if he would ever be happy again. Taking a deep, dejected breath he looked up and, on the nightstand he could see a small, dark object. As if in a trance, he moved towards it and quickly identified it as being a dagger. Calloused fingers got a life of their own and moved towards the object, touching its decorated handle. It was a marvellous weapon. Suddenly his breath was caught in his throat when his eyes travelled towards the bottom part of the handle where, innocently, for the entire world to see, stood the crest of the Phoenix.

* * *

><p>The feeble rays of the autumn sun splashed beautiful colours on the blue cloudless sky but once again, she failed to see them. It seemed that during the past few weeks all that was surrounding her had become painted into various shades of a grey so dull, so unappealing that she suddenly felt very tired of constantly looking at it. With a sigh, Hope tried to turn away from the window but something out there, something hidden in the horizon, something concealed in that great expanse of blue seemed to keep her rooted into place. How many things did she fail to see on a daily basis? A hundred? A thousand? A million? Or maybe it was more… Perhaps there was an infinity of things that she could not see, that she could not perceive. An infinity of little things which, much like the butterfly which flaps its wings only to create a tornado, changed the world every single day.<p>

"Are you killing her?" the voice reverberated off the walls and she suddenly turned, rather startled, only to see Noah's figure standing in the doorway of the staff room.

He was angry. His stance, muscle tense, jaw squared, green eyes glinting, told her as much. Not for the first time, Hope suddenly felt very tired. Much like everything else, Noah himself seemed to slip away from her, slowly but surely, a tiny bit more every single day. What would happen when he would finally leave her? What would happen when she would finally be alone in the world? That was a particular train of thought that she didn't want to pursue, especially since, considering Noah's aggravation, she needed to be as alert as possible in order to placate him.

"I beg your pardon?" Hope replied calmly.

"Are you the one killing Con… Miss Hardbroom?" Noah questioned forcefully. Admittedly, it had not been the first thing that he had wanted to say to Hope. He had a myriad of other questions but, seeing her standing so nonchalantly in the staff room of the Academy whose deputy she might have been actively killing, made his blood boil and dispelled every single ounce of control he possessed.

"You may as well call her Constance, Noah. Your attachment to the woman is hardly a secret." Her eyes challenged his, her mind wondering how he could have reached that particular conclusion.

"Do not patronize me!" the doctor snapped "Now, answer me. Are you killing her? Is that thing killing her?" he waved towards the Ring on her left hand to emphasize his point.

"In all honesty, Noah, I did warn you against falling in love with her!" she answered tiredly, her hand passing through her hair and tangling itself in her curls "But, to answer your question, no, it's not killing her," she offered bitterly.

"Now," Noah completed "It's not killing her _now_!" he spat through clenched teeth.

"Where the hell is this coming from?" she all but shouted, steadily pacing through the room "You talked to Evan…" she followed at his pointed look, her voice much calmer, her mind considering the myriad of possibilities of what the discussion might have entailed.

"What he said was most enlightening" the response was so sharp, sardonic, and so unlike Noah, that she could not help but feel a measure of surprise.

"And you believed him?!" Hope spat, rather incredulous that _her _friend would actually trust the word of the one she regarded as her nemesis.

"Perhaps had you been more forthcoming I would have been less inclined to believe him!" he responded in an equally aggravated tone and, knowing that an argument would not solve much, he tried to take a deep breath and regain a measure of control "Hope, I really, _really _want to trust you. You have been my friend, and so much more, for years… but, if you don't talk to me, if you don't honestly answer my questions, then it's really hard for me to trust you" he explained reasonably, his eyes pleading with her to understand his thoughts and feelings. "Why are we here? Why did you start using the Ring?"

"You have no idea what he did…" she whispered softly, her blue eyes seemingly piercing his very soul.

"He told me he tried to take away your powers. But that is not a reason to…" in spite of the unpleasantness of the conversation, he wanted answers. He wanted to understand her.

"It was more than that… I…loved him, Noah. I was prepared to leave everything behind for him!" her voice was laden with ten years' worth of bitterness and unvoiced feelings and, for a second, the doctor was struck by how unlike her controlled self she sounded.

"So that is it? Revenge for something that happened ten years ago?" he asked sceptically. Somehow, it wasn't enough for him. Somehow, believing that she went to such lengths for something as petty as revenge was worse than her doing it on a whim.

"… There is so much _good_ that I could do with that power. I saw it, Noah. Every time I went to give them eternal release I saw it. There is so much bitterness, so much fear, and so much evil in this world! I could change that!" she answered after a moment's worth of consideration, her voice filled with emotion, her blue eyes sparkling with something akin to passion. To Noah, she looked slightly maniacal.

All these years, Hope had seen it all. She had seen the ugliest facets the world had to offer.

She had seen a family who had died because the mother had been careless enough to leave the unlit stove on. The entire incident would have been avoided if someone had reminded the woman to turn off the gas.

She had seen an old man who had waited for years and years for the painless release of death. His pain would have been avoided if someone would have been able to give him release sooner.

She had seen a young girl, a child, throw herself off a building for no reason at all. The girl wouldn't have resorted to such measures if someone would have compelled her not to.

She had seen an abused child cry for an abusive mother. The mother would have been unable to inflict such pain upon her offspring if someone had stopped her.

She had seen a young couple succumbing to disease and a young woman trying to kill herself because she did not want to be left behind. The whole situation would have been prevented if someone would have healed them both.

She had seen an old man, a priest who was supposed to offer guidance, abuse his position in the most horrible way. The child that was with him at the time of his death wouldn't have had to go through such a traumatic situation if someone would have suitably punished the lecherous man.

She had seen an old woman whose very life force had been tainted by the terrible life she had lived. The woman's soul would have been saved if someone had prevented that from happening.

All those things, all those terrible things, could have been prevented if someone would have wanted to avert them. Alone she could not stop them. After all, she only saw the end of the journey. But if she had the power, if she had the ability to see the entire journey and not only the destination, Hope believed that she could change it. She could create a world where the just and righteous could live in happiness and peace. A world where those who committed dire crimes would be punished. A world with no violent impulses, with no fear, with no betrayal.

"I'm sorry, Hope, but I fail to see your point…" Noah said carefully slightly taken aback by the passion in her eyes.

"Don't you see, Noah? The Master of the Four Elements has control over the fate of this world and its individuals. He can change lives, he can change people, and he can change the course of nature itself. Air and Earth may bring about Life and Death, but Water and Fire are perhaps more powerful because they can change human nature. Together they can shape thoughts, mould characters, inhibit impulses which are harmful to those around us. With only two Elements I cannot do anything to change that, but if I had all four of them, I could… " her words trailed off, and her blue gaze looked for a moment into thin air, as if looking for something that wasn't there.

"…take away free will?" he questioned sharply, rather horrified at the notion.

"What if your father hadn't boarded that plane ten years ago? What if someone had stopped him from boarding that plane?" Hope retorted in a level voice, her eyes piercing his.

"But that's… that's madness… It can't be done! It shouldn't be done!" he whispered softly, pondering her words carefully, his mind reeling at what he was hearing.

"Who says that is shouldn't? I'm not talking about abolishing free will, I am talking about preventing bad things from happening. Is it truly such a bad thing if a murderer's impulse to kill is curbed? Is it bad if a rapist is prevented from acting on his primal desires? Is it bad if a parent is prevented from beating his child?" the woman questioned quickly carefully watching his reaction.

"God!" he exclaimed in a breath "You could do that, couldn't you?" On the one hand it sounded crazy, it seemed terrible. But, on the other hand it was also idyllic.

"Yes" she whispered gently seeing his features soften slightly.

"But how would you know what things needed to be prevented?" he questioned reasonably. He didn't quite agree with what she wanted to do, but he was more than interested to understand how she thought she could do it. "You would need a seer… So you became friends with the heir of the most powerful line of clairvoyants in the country. But I must have been a disappointment because I am not able to see the future…" he offered a bitter smile.

"Not yet" she said in a low voice "But once you inherit the gift you will be" she explained in a gentle voice, her thin hand lightly touching his shoulder.

"Are you seriously telling me that you are planning to kill my mother?" he questioned incredulously, his eyes widening in horror.

"No! Even if I wanted to, which I don't, I wouldn't be allowed to touch a hair on her head!" she answered quickly, her hands raised defensively.

"But you know when she will die," he followed with a certain measure of horror still ringing in his voice "And it must be soon. That's why you started to use the Ring, so you would become Mistress of the four Elements at the same time that I inherited the gift. You were going for efficiency!" he offered a bitter chuckle.

"There are millions of misfortunes happening every day. People shouldn't have to suffer longer than necessary"

"It's brilliant!" Noah said rather hysterically "I must hand it to you, Hope. It's a brilliant plan! Apart from it being contingent on the deaths of both my mother and the woman I love, that is!"

"Noah, do be rational!" she urged "Your mother would unfortunately pass away whether I want it or not. And, as far as Ms Hardbroom is concerned, I told you that I am no longer interfering with her welfare"

"You stopped the bond?" he stopped and looked at her carefully to gauge whether she was telling the truth or not "Why? And don't try to say that it was for my benefit because I know that's not the truth!"

"Let's just say it's no longer necessary" she said carefully and Noah inferred that she was talking about Mr Mallard's current unfortunate state of health.

"He loves you" Noah said simply as if that was the most powerful argument in the world. Perhaps it was.

"I know" she said softly after a moment's thought, her voice trembling slightly.

* * *

><p>Grand wizard Egbert Hellebore experienced a rare moment of triumph when his friend gave him the proof that he had extracted from Miss Hawthorne's former place of residence. To a certain extent, he could say that he felt somewhat guilty for putting Algie in such a position. He knew that his friend despised any underhand means and methods and he was clearly shaken by the revelation that Miss Hawthorne was not entirely as innocent as she pretended to be. On the other hand, Egbert felt a substantial urge to shout "I told you so!" at the top of his lungs. Yet, when Algie returned he offered neither comfort nor did he indicate that he expected praise. Instead, he took the felonious object, smugly informed the headmistress that they had all the proof they needed and marched towards the staff room.<p>

Upon entering the small and shabbily furnished staff room, he could see that Doctor Elwood and Miss Hawthorne were locked deep in conversation, neither paying particular attention to the door. They were speaking in a low voice and whatever the woman was saying the doctor seemed to be rather intrigued, if not slightly disturbed. The fact that neither turned to face him, somewhat ruffled Egbert's feathers and he closed the door with a thud to draw their attention.

"Miss Hawthorne, I demand an explanation!" the Grand Wizard declared rather menacingly, proudly entering the room, offending object and proof of her misdeeds clasped in his hand.

It happened at an alarming speed, yet somehow, time seemed to stand still. Miss Hawthorne slowly turned to face him, and for a fraction of a second, her eyes seemed to lock on his extended hand. The dagger trembled violently and he instinctively lessened his grip on its handle. In less than a heartbeat, the weapon flew towards the woman. In less than a second, it passed through her chest as if it was passing through thin air. Miss Hawthorne's blue eyes widened slightly in surprise and, for a second, looked at the growing red stain on her cream shirt. Behind her, the weapon exploded in tiny little shreds as if it was made of glass. The woman's body fell into a graceful arc and its descent was stopped by the hands of the doctor, who yelled her name as he caught her.

Entire frame quivering, the doctor placed her on the floor and tried to stop the flow of blood. His hands desperately pressed on the gaping wound on her chest. He turned to Egbert and he seemed to be saying something. Egbert couldn't hear him. He could hear nothing. He could say nothing. He could see nothing, but the growing red stain that was forming on the moth-eaten carpet at an alarming rate.

* * *

><p>Something akin to a small electric shock passed through his body and Evan Mallard opened his eyes immediately. With, slow, deliberate movements he tried to raise himself to a sitting position on the couch. Fighting a wave of dizziness, he tried to assess his surroundings, the grogginess lingering from his disturbed afternoon nap making the task much more difficult than it should have been. Something was wrong. His skin felt hot and clammy and beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. He took a look around his private parlour and could see that the fire in the fireplace seemed to have gone out. He made a move to call for one of his servants to re-light the fire, but he found that his limbs were heavy and his throat dry. A gust of air seemed to blow out of nowhere and made him shiver involuntarily, a sudden chill taking hold of his body. He mentally cursed that the fire wasn't lit and, with a deep breath, he found the strength to call for one of his servants.<p>

The words however died in his throat unvoiced, for vivid orange flames were dancing in the fireplace. Evan froze. Fighting a slight bout of nausea, he immediately turned his head towards the door to check whether _she _was there. The doorway was empty. Composing himself as much as possible, he rose from the couch and proceeded to walk towards the hallway. Was she truly there? Had she changed her mind? Had she come to finish what she had been unable to do the last time they had seen each other?

Perhaps the doctor had talked some sense into her. Perhaps she had finally understood the error of her ways and had come back to him. Did the doctor tell her everything? Knowing his inherent honesty, he must have. Then, by now, she must have known that everything he had done had been done for her. Perhaps she understood the depth of his love and, maybe, just maybe forgave him. Even if she didn't forgive him, a chance to see her again, a chance to maybe convince her that she should stay with him, a chance to change her mind was something too precious to be discarded easily. A mixture of anticipation and anxiety was building in his chest and his heart was protesting mildly at the unwelcomed feelings. The hallway was empty.

"Hope?" he called, his voice breaking the eerie silence of the house. There was no answer.

After a few minutes of standing uselessly in the hallway, he turned back to the parlour, the exercise tiring him to a frustrating extent. With a sigh, he sat down on his couch watching the flames dance in the fireplace. Perhaps he had imagined it. After all, it wouldn't have been the first time he had imagined her to be there. The air in the room suddenly felt hot and stifling and he found it hard to draw breath. He waved one hand towards one of the glasses on the table to fill it and extended his other hand towards the fire in the fireplace to extinguish it with water. The flames disappeared.

Eyes wide, Evan moved towards the fireplace, his heart hammering madly in his chest. The wood wasn't wet.

"Hope?" he called, once again, in a strangled voice, and, once again, his call was met with nothing but silence.

He briefly wondered for a second if this was some sort of game she played. Like her very own twisted version of hide and seek. Or maybe she rejoiced in seeing his anxiety. Perhaps in a few moments she would come out laughing at how foolish he was. He looked at the offending piece of wood, summoning a gust of air to bring it up to his level for closer inspection. The piece of wood started burning. He felt sick.

"Hope?" he tried to call, but his lungs weren't in a benevolent mood and all that he managed was a weak whisper which seemed to echo throughout the room. No one answered.

Evan raised a violently shaking hand towards the offending flames. The fire disappeared. The room was spinning, the air around him thinned, his legs felt as if they were made of jelly, pain was radiating through his chest and his heart threatened to beat out of his thoracic cavity. He focused his attention once more on the fireplace and, despite the pain, raised his hand once more. Vivid, orange flames appeared.

"No…" he whispered softly and fell senseless to the ground, like a wooden puppet whose strings had been cut.

* * *

><p>When she heard the commotion in the staff room, Imogen abandoned the warm cup of tea that she was enjoying in the courtyard under the last rays of the feeble autumn sun, in favour of running to see what happened. In the hallway, she was unsurprisingly met by Miss Hardbroom whose second year potion class must have been disturbed by the noise. For once both in absolute accordance with one another, they entered the staff room immediately and were met with a sight that to Imogen seemed to be staged after some sort of macabre pseudo-Shakespearian play.<p>

It was with a strange sort of detachment that Imogen observed that, close to the end of the room, Doctor Elwood sat on the floor holding in his arms what at first appeared to be a doll, but on closer inspection identified itself as Miss Hawthorne. The doctor's hands, clothes, and face were covered in so much blood that she thought it impossible to belong to only one human being. She numbly wondered whether the doctor was hurt as well. Nearest to the door, loomed the figure of the Grand Wizard and had the situation been any different she would have probably laughed at the expression he bore. His eyes were widened, his face was twisted in a grimace, his mouth kept opening and closing as if he wanted to say something but he could not find the words. Imogen found that she shared that particular sentiment. She wanted to say something. She wanted to ask a lot of questions. She wanted to make sense of what she was seeing. But nothing even remotely coherent came to mind.

Naturally, it was Constance who got her bearings first. With an air of purposefulness that Imogen envied, she walked towards the doctor and gracefully kneeled besides him, touching his shoulder with a thin pale hand, which was ever-so-slightly shaking. The man turned his head towards the potions teacher and, although no words were exchanged, some sort of silent conversation seemed to pass between the two. The doctor shook his head and, for a moment, it seemed that Miss Hardbroom's confidence faltered. She looked down at the woman the doctor was holding and her expression seemed to visibly darken. After keeping silent vigil for a few seconds next to the doctor and the girl, Constance rose from her kneeling position and turned her attention towards the other two occupants of the room.

"Grand Wizard Hellebore, perhaps you could inform the headmistress of what has happened?" Imogen only realized how quiet it had been when Constance's voice, more unsteady than usual but still maintaining a certain degree authority, broke through the silence.

The Grand Wizard took a moment to process what had been asked of him and, after some silent deliberation, he nodded, turned on his heels and left the room.

"Imogen…" Constance turned to her, her voice much gentler than it had been previously "Mr Mallard would want to know… Perhaps it would be best if you informed him?"

Imogen wanted nothing better than to be able to agree, but she found that she could not. She couldn't be the one to cause him so much pain. She briefly looked Constance in the eye and gave a small shake of her head, her legs involuntarily carrying her towards the side of the room. The deputy said nothing but sighed, straightened herself and walked out of the room. Imogen leaned against the wall.

* * *

><p>Constance didn't allow herself to process what she had seen. She couldn't allow herself to think about what stood behind the door of the staff room, because if she did, she feared she would fall apart. It wouldn't help the situation in the slightest bit if she fell apart. As such, instead of focusing on what had happened she focused on what should happen. Ideally, she should have been able to take Noah out of the room, but one look at him had told her that it wouldn't happen anytime soon. He needed time to digest what had occurred, he needed time to come to terms, he simply needed time… He didn't need her at the moment, so with her characteristic practicality she shifted her attention towards those who did. With a steady step she went towards Amelia's office.<p>

The headmistress, the Mr Rowan-Webb and Grand Wizard were sitting around Amelia's desk, the latter obviously quite shaken by what he had witnessed. Once she entered Miss Cackle gave her an inquiring look, confusion clearly etched in the in the aged features.

"Constance, what happened?" Amelia quickly asked and she could not help but suppress a sigh.

"The dagger just flew out of my hands and just… just killed her…" the Grand Wizard muttered incredulously, the cup of tea he was holding tilting dangerously

"Constance?" the headmistress asked for confirmation, her expression now one of horror.

"It appears so" she answered as calmly and detachedly as possible. "Amelia, we need to keep the girls from the staff room. I suggest we cancel classes and tell them to go to their dormitories" she followed firmly when the headmistress seemed to be headed for full-panic mode.

"Yes, you are quite right…" Miss Cackle replied, thanking whatever divinity was out there for Constance's presence and her ability to be the voice of reason regardless of how incredibly illogical the situation was.

"Perhaps you could also inform Davina?" she suggested mildly, knowing fully well that the chanting teacher would be hysterical the moment she heard the news and that Amelia was much more suited to dealing with that kind of reaction.

Amelia answered nothing in return and instead turned on her heels to perform the task she had been assigned. Releasing a deep breath, Constance allowed her shoulders to drop slightly as her eyes travelled to the recently installed telephone. With a slightly trembling hand, she took the little black address book Amelia kept and started looking for Mr Mallard's number. While she had absolutely no compassion for the school's patron, that was certainly a call that she wasn't looking forward to making.

* * *

><p>About an eternity later, a wild-eyed, clearly shaken Evan made his appearance in the doorway. When he entered the room, Imogen had to fight the impulse to go to him immediately. For a second he stopped in the doorway and his hazel eyes surveyed the scene, widening slightly at the sight of the figure lying prostate on the floor. Then he went pale. Paler than he had been and, considering that his normally tanned skin had been long ago replaced by something akin to sandpaper, that was saying something. His legs failed him for a moment and, had he not caught himself on the door frame, Imogen would have gone to him and caught him herself. But his shaking hands did manage to hold a tight enough grip on the wooden frame and Imogen stood still at the other side of the room. She watched as he momentarily closed his eyes, licked his dried lips, his tall body slouched, his broad chest heaving in an attempt to draw a deep breath and his free hand making its way to a too-creased forehead. When he finally opened his eyes, she expected to see tears in them. But his eyes were dry and in their depths she could see such sorrow, such disbelief, such grief that it momentarily stunned her.<p>

"Take your hands off her!" when he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper and his words were hollow, his hands griping the frame tighter.

The doctor looked up, tears cleaning away the splatters blood from his cheeks. Hazel met green and an unspoken conversation, one that was completely foreign to Imogen, seemed to take place. The doctor did not comply. Instead, he held onto the mass of flesh and blood even tighter as if his very life depended on it. Evan looked away for a second and his entire body shuddered as if hit by an unsuspected chill. He rested his forehead on the doorframe and swallowed, as if the words he was trying to give voice to were physically paining him. Perhaps they were.

"Please, take your hands off her…" the command was no longer a command, but a plea so pathetic in its nature that it made Imogen avert her own eyes from the blond man.

Slowly, gently, with the upmost care, the doctor released the body and placed it on the moth-eaten, blood-defiled carpet of the staff room. With his hold, every physical ounce of restraint was gone as well and the full force of what had trespassed seemed to hit him in a flash. Sobs coursing through his frame, something akin to an animal cry coming from deep within his chest, Noah Elwood crawled to the end of the room. Trembling hands held onto unsteady legs and his head rested upon his knees. A grown man reduced to the state of a child. Imogen wanted to say something. She wanted to comfort him in some way but, once again, found herself rooted to the ground.

On unsteady legs, he walked to her and almost collapsed by her side. Evan cradled her corpse in the same way that an attentive father carries his firstborn. It was only then that Imogen chanced a look at what had been Miss Hawthorne. She decided there was nothing even remotely beautiful and poetic about death. What had once been a fairly attractive young woman had been reduced to a prone, unresponsive, slack mass of flesh. Her pale skin had become an unattractive grey colour, her red lips no longer contrasted with her skin, the muscles in her face had gone lax, her jaw protruding and incongruously revealing a row of blood-stained white teeth. She didn't look peaceful. She didn't look like she was asleep. She looked like a broken, terrible, frightening doll. And yet, Evan failed to notice all that and held her as if she was the most precious thing in the world.

"My love… I am so sorry…" he whispered softly, slowly, methodically caressing her black curls. "Why didn't you stop? Why didn't you…?" he released a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second, swaying slightly to one side. With one hand he held the woman close to him, with the other he supported himself.

Imogen knew that he would fall. She just knew. With resolute moves she went to where he stood and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. She would not make him release his hold on Miss Hawthorne. She would not dare to. Instead, she gently helped him drag himself and the dead woman towards the unlit fireplace. He didn't turn to her. He didn't acknowledge her presence. His eyes never left the pale face of the corpse in his arms. Once he had his back against one of the pillars of the fireplace, had sufficient support and was in no immediate danger of falling, Imogen went back to her spot and stood as still as before.

"I killed her" Evan said to no one in particular after a few minutes of silence. Doctor Elwood immediately raised his head, his bloodshot green eyes fixed upon the blond man. He said nothing.

"That day… If I didn't do what I did… If I had known what I know now… If I would have listened to her… If… God!" he followed in that strangely empty voice, the last word seemingly robbing him of breath. He closed his eyes once again and rested his head against the stone fireplace, lifting Miss Hawthorne closer to him. Imogen could do nothing but watch, her hands aching to comfort him and her mind telling her that she had no right to intrude on a moment so very personal.

"Do you know how much I love you? Did you ever know? I love you so much it hurts. It hurts to look at you, it hurts to think of you, it hurts to…" his eyes were fixed upon her unmoving features, his hands were trembling as they touched her. Imogen wanted to look away, but found that she could not. "It wasn't supposed to end like this. You were supposed to understand. When you came to me after such a long time, I thought that you did understand. I thought that you knew… "

"But then you left. Why did you leave, my love? I would have done anything… anything for you. I would have done anything to keep you safe, my love. Don't you see, Hope? How can you see so much and be so blind at the same time? Everything I did, everything I am doing, I'm doing it for you. Only you, my love. One day you will see that, won't you? And when you do, you will come back to me and everything will be right again," he buried his head in the dark curls for a moment and then placed am almost revenant kiss on her forehead.

"The house is still standing, you know? I wanted to destroy it after you left but you always did like that place. We can live there… and no one… no one… will be able to say anything about it. And we will be happy, like we were before. Just the two of us! You will come back, won't you?" he whispered to her, his arms cradling her closer to him.

"She won't!" the doctor's voice said dryly from the corner of the room, his green eyes having an angry glint to them. "She can't! Don't you see she's dead?" he looked accusingly at the dead woman, his voice a mixture of anger and despair.

For the first time since he started holding Hope into his arms, Evan looked up to face the doctor. His mouth opened slightly as if he wanted to refute Noah's claim but immediately closed it. He closed his eyes and rubbed his left hand tiredly against his face. When he opened them, his pupils were widened in shock for his hand was covered in blood. Her blood. For a moment he stood there in a daze and Imogen thought he looked very much like a child who had been woken up from a deep, restful sleep. Then comprehension dawned on his features and left behind nothing but misery.

Evan furrowed his brow and looked at the dead woman in his arms. Blinking rapidly, he placed her on the ground and used his now red hand to lift himself up. He took a deep breath and swayed dangerously on his feet, his hand clutching the border of the fireplace as tightly as he could. He looked again at Hope but his gaze did not linger. Instead, he averted his eyes and tried to move away from the place. Within a few paces his knees buckled and, in less than a fraction of a second, Imogen was by his side.

For once, Imogen was grateful for her choice of career, for she would have been unable to support him had her muscles been less toned. She placed her arm around his waist while he unconsciously held firmly onto her shoulder. His finders were digging into her flesh but she had neither the strength, nor the willingness to complain about potential bruises. She could no longer see his face but she could feel his laboured breath on the skin of her neck and his head resting limply on the top of her short, blond hair.

"Evan?" she said softly from her awkward position, feeling him limp against her frame.

"I'm… sorry… I… need a moment…" he answered in a breathless voice and Imogen held onto him tighter.

She gently steered him towards the chair closest to the door. Under normal circumstances she would have aimed for the couch but that was too close to the place where… The rickety old chair was the better alternative. She placed her free hand on his chest to support him better and could feel his heart pounding erratically against her palm. For the first time in minutes she felt fear. The journey to the blasted chair seemed endless and all she could think about was getting him there, getting him away from the dead woman on the floor and preventing something bad from happening. Well, not something bad. Something bad had already happened, Imogen rationalized. Something worse. When they finally reached the chair she allowed him to fall limply on it, his breathing hard, one hand clutching at the unstable armrest, the other placed on his chest. His eyes were closed, his forehead was creased, a thin sheen of sweat forming on it.

"Doctor Elwood!" Imogen called as calmly as she could while she opened the top buttons of Evan's shirt "I need your help…"

The doctor, who had curled into himself once more, looked up and, for a second did not, could not understand what she was saying. Sheer frustration coursed through her veins and she would have bodily attacked the man had he not nodded in understanding after a few painfully long moments. With movements which were too slow for her taste, Noah deemed to raise from his position and made his way across the room, unconsciously stopping next to Hope's body. He looked down and froze in his tracks, his eyes traveling wildly between the dead girl and the man. Every instinct in him, finely tuned over the past ten years told him to go to her.

"Doctor Elwood!" Imogen called, slightly more aggravated than before "There is nothing you can do for her…" she followed much more gently when seeing the utterly lost expression he bore on his features.

With a deep sigh, Noah nodded and made his way toward where they were. Somehow, when he actually reached them he seemed to fully comprehend the situation and placed two shaking fingers on Evan's neck.

"Mr Mallard…" he started professionally, his voice completely empty, completely neutral "You really need to try to calm down."

Then the doctor laughed. A hoarse, hysterical, unpleasant laugh that reverberated off the walls and filled the entire room. Imogen wanted to slap him. Evan opened his eyes and, between gasps for air, looked at the man knowingly. If not for his utterly pathetic state she would have said that he was mocking the doctor with his eyes, daring him to make him 'calm down'. Once again she had the feeling that there was some strange understanding between the two but she did not ponder it any further. She moved towards the doctor to shake him from his insanity.

"No, Miss Drill…" he raised a hand to stop her "I don't you see how idiotic it is? Don't you see it? The love of the man's life is dead and I am telling him to calm down! As if it's nothing…" he finished his maddening dissertation with a chuckle "Miss Drill, my bag is in Constance's room. I have sedatives in there. Could you please bring it?" he followed more rationally, a strange glimmer in his eyes.

Imogen was torn. For one, considering the doctor's current mental instability she didn't dare to leave an essentially sick and defenceless man in his care. God knew what he would do in his insanity! On the other hand, the doctor, covered in blood from head to toe, was certainly not fit to be seen anywhere near impressionable girls and fragile staff members. Thus, sending him to fetch his own bag was out of the question. She looked down at Evan and he nodded. With a sigh, Imogen ran towards Miss Hardbroom's room.

* * *

><p>Left alone with Evan and essentially far calmer than he had felt in the past hour, Noah took a deep breath and once again checked the pulse of the other man, this time taking his wrist. This mundane, mechanical task somehow made him feel better. After all, as long as he had something to do, something to focus on, he didn't have to look at the other side of the room. He didn't have to look at her, and at her blood and think about what had happened.<p>

"If I do nothing, there is a fair chance you will have another heart attack and die" Noah said in a neutral voice, releasing Evan's wrist and allowing it to fall on the armrest.

Had he been able to breathe properly, Evan would have probably laughed. As it stood, the only thing that came out of his mouth was a feeble, gasping, sound which might have remotely resembled a chuckle. Noah looked at the bitter expression the ailing man displayed with inquisitive green eyes. In the hazel eyes of the young man he could detect frustration, sadness, desperation and a trace of longing. In return, the doctor offered a bittersweet smile of his own. He understood.

* * *

><p>Constance rose from the foot of her bed when he entered, her very soul shattering at the picture of Noah, broken, desolate, covered in blood, making his way into her room, several hours later. He walked towards her, his movements robotic and mechanical and sat listlessly on the floor at the foot of her bed, his elbows placed on his needs and his head leaning on the heels of his palms.<p>

"Mr Mallard?" she asked softly, busying herself with preparing a quick cup of tea. Anticipating that Noah would come to see her after the tragic events of the day, Amelia had been gracious enough to send food and hot water to her room, so he would have some nourishment and something warm to drink.

"He had an episode, but I believe he is better now. He is in Miss Drill's room, resting" his voice was far from the gentle tone he usually used. Instead it was devoid of any feeling and Constance quickly decided that she did not like the change. "The girls?"

"They didn't see a thing…we took them upstairs and made certain that they would stay in their rooms" she answered as kindly as she could and handed him the cup of tea, quickly casting a warming spell on it to keep the liquid warm if he didn't have a mind to drink it immediately. He took it from her hands and gave a grateful, if absolutely mechanical nod.

The silence in the room was stifling, suffocating her with its awkwardness. Not for the first time in his presence, she wished she had the social graces of some of her colleagues. She wished she could comfort him, put him at ease, and tell him that everything would soon be better. But she could not. She had little experience with comforting people in general and even less with helping them to deal with such an event. Whatever she thought of saying rang untrue and superfluous to her ears. Wringing her hands, she did the only thing she thought might help. She sat by his side on the floor and waited for him to talk. If she could not speak, she could at least listen.

"The Grand Wizard was kind enough to make the arrangements to…" he started after a few moments of complete silence, his gaze fixed on the warm brown liquid in his hands. "I didn't stay to see them take her away… I couldn't. Tomorrow I will go make arrangements with a funeral house. I know that her family has a plot somewhere within the domain of Hawthorne Mansion but she never really told me if she would like to be buried there or not… Maybe, Evan knows" whether he was speaking for her benefit or for his own, Constance could not tell. There was an eerie sort of calm about him that she neither could understand nor liked.

"I will go to Hawthorne mansion tomorrow… Knowing her, she probably doesn't even have a bloody birth certificate" he shook his head and offered a bitter smile towards his cup of tea.

"Do you want me to…" Constance started to offer but was immediately silenced by his head moving so fast to face her that she thought his neck might snap.

"No!" Noah snapped, and she was taken aback by the forcefulness of his answer and the slight desperation noticeable in his tone. "God knows what she keeps in there! I can't… I can't put you… in danger" he continued much more mildly, his green eyes pleading with her to understand. She simply nodded, and he seemed to relax almost immediately.

"I need to get cleaned up…" he said matter-of-factly after studying the dark brown prints his fingers had left on the white porcelain cup.

Constance was grateful for that declaration for it allowed her to instantaneously spring into action and afforded her the immediate comfort of not feeling so very inadequate. She quickly walked to her dresser and retrieved three white towels for him. Prolonging her activities as much as possible, she went to the bathroom and swiftly lit all three candles, took out a fresh bar of soap and put it on the rim of her sink and a two bottles of shampoo and shower gel in her shower. Under normal circumstances, the dour Miss Hardbroom would have never in a million years allowed a man to make use of her shower, for that was a dire breach in decorum that she would not condone. But those were not normal circumstance. And he was not just any man. He was Noah and she was not going to allow him to walk covered in his best friend's blood to the dingy inn he called his home for the time being.

"Everything is ready…" she touched his shoulder gently and was rewarded with a grateful nod. It was only when he closed the door behind him that she actually allowed herself to sigh.

Behind the closed bathroom door the sound of falling water barely covered the sound of desperate tears.

* * *

><p>When Noah finally exited the bathroom, his eyes were red and she automatically averted her own eyes, the silence in the room becoming so much more pregnant and stifling. He stood in the doorway looking slightly lost at what to do next, seemingly perfectly conscious that his current state of undress was not exactly appropriate for polite company. Feeling a faint blush making its way to her cheeks and trying to hide her reaction, she turned on her heels and made her way to the chair, where Amelia had been kind enough to place some clothes borrowed from Frank Blossom for the doctor to change in. They were certainly not what the doctor himself would have chosen, or even of a remotely similar quality, but she supposed, given the situation they would do. She took them and, with a steady a hand as possible, she offered them to him.<p>

"Amelia borrowed these from Frank Blossom…" she explained, perhaps unnecessarily, her eyes still fixated on the modest floor of her room.

She could not exactly pinpoint what was making her more uncomfortable. The uniqueness of the situation? The fact that, against her very nature, she did find the doctor attractive? The desolate, lost look in his eyes? Noah didn't answer. He didn't take the clothes she offered. Instead, he came to her and pulled her against his chest, the side of his head pressed tightly against her temple. For a second she wanted to protest. It was so very inappropriate, so very foreign that it made every muscle in her body stiffen against the sudden contact. But then she could feel him shudder, and felt droplets of salt make their way down his cheek. He was crying and whatever concern she might have had about propriety went out the window. Tentatively, she wrapped her arms around his waist and, when feeling this sudden contact, he pulled her closer, tighter, as if she was his only anchor in this world. His skin was warm from the shower and smooth to the touch and, as if they had a life of their own, her hands found themselves tracing comforting circles on his back. She placed her head against his shoulder and unconsciously inhaled his scent, a rather pleasant combination between the products she usually used and his own smell which made her slightly lightheaded.

After a few long minutes of holding her, he raised his head and Constance was suddenly confronted with the full power of his green eyes. His gaze, always so very expressive, met hers and she could see within its depths a myriad of unvoiced feelings. She saw his despair, his wretchedness, and above all, she saw his need. His need to have her close, his need to feel her alive and well in his arms, his need to give himself to her. She said nothing for she could not speak. It had been such a long time since such feelings had been directed towards her, with the kind of intensity that made her heart beat madly in her ribcage. Words were useless so she did not seek them. Words could not express what either felt. Words could not describe the magnitude of the situation. She merely nodded and his lips came crushing down onto hers.

In his first kiss she had first felt respect and chastity. In the second one she had felt passion. This was entirely different. It was neither chaste nor passionate. It went beyond that. It spoke of feelings which had been buried deep within him for heaven knew how long, and seemed to surface all at once, engulfing them both with their intensity. He was giving himself to her, stripped naked of all pretence and liberated from all confines. She wrapped her hands around his neck and tried to match his honesty by offering the same openness of feeling.

Hurried, yet gentle hands roamed her body and, for a second Constance hesitated. It was not in her nature to rush into such things. She was a woman of reason and not of emotion. And yet, at that dire time, at that time when reason could only go so far she could not help but embrace emotion. Not only for his sake but for hers as well. It had been too long since she had allowed herself to be swept away. Her first love had been one born out of need for escape. It had been founded on immature dreams and rash actions. Her second love was one born out of a different kind of need, a need for companionship. At its foundation stood respect and trust. She gently took his hands and, instead of allowing him to uselessly fumble any further with the myriad of tiny buttons her dress had, she softly spoke an incantation under her breath and opened them herself.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Epilogue…<strong>_

_O, what is the meaning ? What sense does agree ? _

_The end of such beauty, had that what to be ? _

_Sweet seraph of clay where still lingers life's smile, _

_Just in order to die did you live for a while ? _

_O, tell me the meaning. This angel or clod ? _

_I find on her forehead no witness of God._

_(Mihai Eminescu- Mortua Est)_

Hidden away in the vast Southern French countryside, Chateau Martel was quite unlike any building in the area. It was a vast, imposing structure, with dark grey walls and angular windows which defied the much more subdued Provence style so characteristic of the region. For centuries the hard stone of the Alpes Maritimes had served as a natural defence and the endless rows of trees surrounding the propriety gave the building a well-deserved air of mystery. If outside the building seemed imposing, inside the décor made it positively sumptuous. Paintings by grand masters adorned wallpapered walls, pained ceilings supported golden candelabra and richly decorated baroque furniture spoke of a place which had been untouched by the notorious French Revolution.

In one such room, the tall figure of a man cast shadows on the plush rugs. Impeccably dressed, a glass of Bordeaux in hand and a black cell phone pressed to his ear, the man paced the room methodically, from one end to the other. His frame was tall and straight, and his movements careful and careless at the same time. There was a certain tension in his broad shoulders, which made the dark material of his coat crease slightly. A sly smile adorned straight, rather angular features and amusement danced in vivid blue eyes.

"Mademoiselle Lynn, thank you for informing me of the sudden development" his voice was smooth baritone, no trace of an accent in his tone, his smile widening at the response he heard from the end of the other line "Well, _chérie_ , I did tell you that our time will come, didn't I? Until later, then!"

He ended the call and with deft fingers he took a small bell and rung it delicately. As if on cue, an elderly gentleman, perhaps in his late fifties, made his appearance. Unlike that of the other man, his frame was short and stout, his head was bald and his eyes were partially obscured by round glasses. In his pudgy hands he carried a napkin of sorts and a faint grimace on wrinkled features, betrayed his annoyance at having been interrupted from his previous task.

"Monsieur LeBlanc, prepare the guestroom on the second floor. The one that overlooks the garden" the man ordered, faint traces of amusement clear the tone of his voice.

"Will you be entertaining, sir?" the one called Monsieur LeBlanc asked subserviently, inclining his head in a, perhaps excessive, showing of respect.

"I will, indeed. And she is a very special guest, so I will accept nothing but perfection" the man turned from the window and directed his steely, blue gaze at his interlocutor, his voice razor sharp as he issued the order.

"Perhaps you could tell me more about the lady's preferences? To make her stay more enjoyable?" Monsieur LeBlanc met his employer's gaze absolutely unperturbed, his composure proof of the regularity with which he received such orders.

"I have yet to meet her. But she is a lady of great influence and taste. No expense should be spared in making her comfortable" the master replied with a trace of eagerness in his voice, and for once, Monsieur LeBlanc's interest was piqued.

"Perhaps her name? We could have the towels monogramed to give the room a more personal air" the butler inquired out of curiosity than anything else.

"Hope. Hope Hawthorne" the name rolled of his tongue easily and the corner of his lips turned up in something akin to a smirk.

Monsieur LeBlanc inclined his head and made his way towards the door. He did not recognize the name of the lady, but, if she made his master so animated he reckoned she must have been rather special. His master never lost his composure over a woman. His dalliances with the fairer sex were few and far between and never resulted in any emotional attachment that he knew of. For all his… eccentricities, his master could not count a weakness of spirit or heart among his less desirable attributes.

"And, Monsieur LeBlanc…" the man's voice rang again and the butler turned immediately"… I need you to procure me a shovel…"

**The End**


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